Friends Indeed
by Ditsyjo
Summary: Alternate universe set at the end of season 3. Kramer isn't evil but he learned a long time ago not to care about his CI's... that could cost Neal everything, but he has friends
1. Chapter 1

"The rules are very simple Mr. Caffrey" Philip Kramer said softly "I have nothing against you personally, but make no mistake I am not your friend nor do I have any desire to be. You do your job, you stay out of trouble and we won't have any problems. You still have two miles and I don't care what you do with them when you are not working as long as it's legal. Contact with former criminal associates is forbidden, if I even suspect you are talking to someone from your criminal past and it isn't part of an approved operation your deal will be revoked and you will go back to prison, no questions asked. H*** I may just arrest your buddy on whatever I can come up with too. Is that clear?"

"Crystal." Neal sighed. It was going to be a long two years…being arrested for public endangerment just as the board was about to give their judgement on his commutation had obviously put an end to any consideration of an early release, but the older agent hadn't actually found anything to extend his sentence… at least not yet.

"Nor will you have excessive contact with Agent Burke. He is a good agent, but his objectivity when it comes to you is seriously compromised. I don't mind an occasional email… even a few calls, but you will not pull him down with you if you go down."

"Of course not. Peter's my friend… I would never-"

"Yes, you would. Let's be honest now." Kramer's voice never rose "You wouldn't mean to get him in trouble I'm sure, but just look at what he was willing to do for you already and… unintended consequences are just as bad as any other. You know what they say about good intentions." He smiled as they pulled up to rundown building with a broken neon sign that read **OT L**. Neal flinched as he looked the place over.

"Nice place" he muttered as they stepped through the door. He didn't say any more once the smell of the lobby hit his nostrils, a mix of mold, urine and a few things he didn't want to identify. He focused on holding his breath as much as he could.

"My office is putting you up here for a week. By the end of seven days I trust you will have found your own lodging. You have seven hundred and fifty dollars per month for room and board."

"What about-?" he started to ask about the two hundred and fifty dollar living allowance the New York office had given him to cover food and other expenses beyond the housing the state paid, but the other man's expression stopped him. Kramer waited quietly with his eyebrow arched slightly and frown playing on his lips. "Never mind." Neal finally said, the contract for DC was already written and signed.

"Let's go"

Neal nodded. He could do this…probably. While he seriously doubted that he would get as lucky as he had when he met June, anywhere was better than this.

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Kramer watched the young CI work from his office. He had to hand it to the kid, he had a surprising work ethic for a criminal. He arrived on time every morning, he worked hard all day, he returned on time from his lunch break. The kid didn't even complain if their days went long. His only real complaint about Caffrey was the consultant was friendlier than the agent was comfortable with. The young man would be easy to like, he could definitely see why Peter and his team had been taken in by that smile.

The older man sighed. He had been naive enough once to be taken in the same way. He had allowed himself to think because Tommy was his friend that meant that the boy wanted to go straight. Philip Kramer had been a young agent, had poured his heart and soul into helping the "ex" con, bringing him home to dinner with his family, encouraging him to coach short stop on his son's little league team, taking the kid for drinks after work to make him feel like part of the team. For three years he worked his tail off to help Tommy get established before he realized his consultant had been selling forgeries on the side the entire time he had worked for the Bureau. Arresting Tommy had felt like a knife to the gut, but he'd done his duty and sent the young man back to prison for twenty years.

Well he was wiser now. Caffrey might honestly want to do the right thing, but Kramer had no intention of letting his guard down to find out. He'd use the kid's skills and enforce the rules as needed. There was no need for excess conversation. Marie didn't need to meet him, she didn't even need to know he was working with a full time CI again. If Caffrey wanted to go straight then strict rules and disciple was what he needed, not friendship. Tommy taught him that and Kramer was not going to forget the lesson.


	2. Chapter 2

Neal followed agent Kramer into the gallery. His eyes wandered to the paintings hanging all around him hungrily. He swallowed deeply, longing desperately to just linger and browse. A month in DC and he hadn't been to a single museum or gallery outside of the job.

"Come on Mr. Caffrey. Please keep up." Agent Kramer called quietly. "We are here to work." Neal sighed and tore himself away from a rather spectacular painting that clearly depicted the Paris skyline in vague shapes and lines. He was here to determine if the Gerhard Richter painting, Cage 4 they had on loan had been replaced with a forgery.

"Of course agent Kramer." He sighed again and followed his boss and the gallery manager into the back room. The large painting seemed to fill the small storage area. Kramer waved him toward it wordlessly, his grey eyes watching Neal intently. As if he would be dumb enough to try to walk out of here with a painting that size… in front of an FBI agent. Well… at least not without a lot of extremely careful planning… and Mozzie's help.

He studied the piece closely and shook his head as he glanced up at his handler.

"It's a fake." He said quietly. "I'm sorry" he told the manager.

"I was afraid of that" she frowned a bit stiffly "the owners will not be happy."

"Don't worry Miss Wilcox." Kramer said gently "we'll find the thief." Neal thought she looked a bit uncomfortable with that reassurance. Miss Wilcox didn't strike him as a thief, but she was definitely hiding something.

"The manager is hiding something" he said as they stepped outside.

"That so?" Kramer looked thoughtful. "You think it's an inside job?"

"No she doesn't strike me as the thief, her body language doesn't suggest guilt. She isn't lying to us… or at least she isn't showing any tells, but she kept her arms wrapped around her waist and she tensed up when you said we would catch the thief." Neal shrugged "I think she is protecting someone."

"Am interesting theory." The older man nodded "I'll look into it." He glanced at the clouded sky briefly "I trust you can find your way back to the office. I have an appointment."

"Yes sir." Neal shot the gloomy sky a look too. He hoped the rain would hold off half an hour.

"Good, you get back there and start writing up your report on this."

Three hours later Kramer charged into the office with a grin. Neal over heard him tell another agent "Caffrey was right… Miss Wilcox, kid brother is an art student with a gambling problem…" Neal smiled, it was almost worth the damp shirt from his walk back to the office in the rain to be right.

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Kramer frowned at the screen as the blinking dot of Caffrey's tracker moved slowly around the perimeter of the gallery. While the movement was suspicious it was not quite enough reason to arrest him, after all the business was currently still open for the evening and it was inside the younger man's radius… and he hadn't actually set foot inside the place. His frown deepened it was chilly and damp out tonight why wouldn't Caffrey go inside unless he was casing the place. A few minutes later the dot moved away… stopping for several long moments outside a very nice restaurant… picking up take out Kramer assumed when the dot moved on.

He sighed. The kid's lead had been a good one today. Ms. Wilcox's brother had caved quickly under questioning. He needed money quick or his bookie was going to have his hand broken the boy told them. He visited his sister at work after hours a lot… it wasn't hard to swap the paintings while she was in the office closing up for the day. Not a bad kid really… not a career criminal type. It was probably for the best he got caught his first time out. It just might prevent him becoming like Caffrey and… Tommy.

Kramer shut down his computer, pushed his gloomy thoughts aside and headed home. He didn't enjoy thinking about the past. It was beginning to look like he was right about Caffrey being incorrigible. At least he would be the one slapping the cuffs on him and not Petey. He wasn't entirely sure the younger agent could do it actually and if he did it would break his heart. He hated that his former student didn't see why he had done what he had, but he was protecting his friend. He could see how Petey might see it as a betrayal but in time… when Caffrey was back in prison Phillip hoped he would understand.

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Neal peered through the windows of the gallery longingly, watching the people attending the opening mill around with quietly concealed envy. The event was exclusive and while he could have forged an invitation with his eyes closed he was not desperate enough to risk going back to prison for a gallery opening. He would have to content himself with the low end galleries that allowed him to wander through their works for free. The art was often low quality but every once in a while he might find something worth seeing. He sighed… this was just torturing himself, he should go home… maybe after one last circle.

Darkness had fallen when two hours later his empty stomach reminded him that he should start the long walk home. The wonderful scent of spices and cooking drifted out of Rasika. The rich Indian cuisine smelled amazing… he stood outside for several moments considering a splurge but… finally he forced his feet to walk away. Even if he didn't eat for the rest of the month his budget would not have covered the meal.

"It's just two years" he reminded himself firmly. "You can live this way for two years, you've done it before."

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The snow was grey and slushy. Winter had just begun and Mozzie was already seriously considering spending it somewhere tropical. It wasn't like he didn't have the money. The only thing keeping him tied to New York was Neal. He kept hoping the kid would contact him again. It had been three months since the suit from DC had dragged him away… barely giving him time to say goodbye, while he packed, before they left. The next day Mozzie had received a brief call. Neal assured him he was ok, but advised him to stay away.

"Kramer will send me back if he sees us talking… he'll probably arrest you too." Neal had told him.

"Ha! Like he could make anything stick."

"He doesn't have to get a conviction to get you in the system."

"True." The small man conceded "but you will contact me if he is hurting you or locking you in the closet… or injecting you with experimental drugs, right?"

"Of course." He could hear the tolerant smile on his friend's voice.

"I mean it Neal, if you need anything…"

"I'll call if I run into any problems I can't handle." Neal sighed "Look, I think my biggest worry is finding a decent place to stay… I'll be fine."

That was three months ago and Mozzie hadn't heard a word from his friend since. Dear Mrs. Suit told him Neal called her husband occasionally… about once a month. When Mozzie asked if he was ok she frowned a little.

"He says he's fine…"

"But?"

"He sounds tired." She sighed "and lonely."

"Can't you go see him?"

"I want to." She smiled sadly "I might, but Peter is supposed to stay away for six months… to give him time to adjust to his new handler." She pushed her hair back from her face and poured him some more coffee. Pushing a plate of cookies his way, she added "We all miss him, Moz"

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He was trying to play by the rules, to give Neal and Kramer's team six months to adjust to each other, before he visited, as he'd been ordered to do. To give himself six months to "regain his perspective on Caffrey" as he'd been strongly advised to do by his superiors, but it was harder than Peter expected. It felt like having his kid brother locked away somewhere that he wasn't allowed to go. While he knew Neal was safe, that Philip wasn't so heartless that he wouldn't call him if anything happened to the kid, it was surprisingly painful knowing he was only two hundred and twenty six miles away and he couldn't just hop a train down there and see him on a weekend.

When Neal called he didn't talk about much outside of work and Peter couldn't help but notice the calls came from a Bureau line. The agent wondered if that meant Neal knew his calls were being monitored or if he was simply being cautious just in case. The younger man never complained and Peter hoped that meant he was actually alright… content in his new life.

Peter told himself that Neal had probably conned himself into a good deal on an apartment… probably not as nice as June's, but nice enough. He probably had a couple of empty nesters looking out for him while he lived in the room over their garage. He like to picture a motherly lady bringing him home cooked meals and her husband talking to him about being a good man. He liked that picture because he knew there was no way anyone could actually live in DC on a thousand dollars a month without extra income from somewhere and he knew Kramer had locked all withdrawals from Neal's bank account despite Peter's assurances the money there was from a legal source. "He could be laundering money though that bakery." the older man had said firmly.

So Peter told himself Neal was smart and charming and would find someone to take him in. He told himself repeatedly, but he couldn't convince that nagging little voice in his head that occasionally asked softly "What if he couldn't?"

He hoped quietly that he would get the week long assignment to DC so he could drop by and say hello to his friend. Not because he was worried about the weary, lonely tone in the kid's voice, but because he'd like to have dinner with his best friend.

"Hey boss." Diana stuck her head into his office "I just spoke to Hughes."

"Oh?"

"He's sending me to Washington." She gave him a rueful smile. Peter tried to keep his face from falling

"That's good."

"I thought I might swing by Art Crimes and make sure Neal isn't giving them too much trouble."

"Tell him I said hi." He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. From the sympathetic look Diana was giving him he was failing.

"It will only be three more months until you can go check on him any time you like." She offered with a grin.

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The sun was long set and a heavy fog was rolling in off the river as, damp and cold from the walk home in the late fall rain Neal trudged up the four flights of dimly lit stairs. When he'd first been brought to DC he had considered doing subpar work for Kramer in hopes he would get fed up and send him home, but the fact was, that was highly unlikely.

The agent had this idea that hard work and strict rules were what he needed to reform… slacking off would not improve his situation, it fact it might make it worse. Of course his pride in his abilities wouldn't let him do less than his best for very long anyway. Besides solving cases was really the only thing he had these days to stave off the boredom that threatened to drown him. It wasn't like he could afford to go out and do anything. Even the few dollars it took to visit a museum was beyond his small budget. It had been over three months since he had seen any art outside of his job. He felt like his soul was drying up. Sometimes he wondered if he might blow away one day from the hollowness inside.

What made it worse was he had money… legitimate money coming in from his bakery, but Kramer had denied him access to his accounts, to cut him off from dishonest gains. It wasn't that his new handler was cruel, he wasn't, in fact Philip Kramer was polite and soft spoken to a fault. He listened respectfully to Neal's ideas on cases and implemented them when they made sense. He never yelled at him like Peter did, which should have been a relief, but oddly it made him feel…insignificant somehow.

Kramer was appreciative when the young man worked hard, but he never offered to buy him a drink after a rough case, never took him home for dinner, Neal had never met his wife… wasn't even sure he still had one. Kramer never drove him home or picked him up for work, he'd been to Neal's apartment exactly once in three long months, to confirm its existence. He was a good agent, but Neal was left with not even the illusion of friendship. His team followed their boss's lead, everyone was polite and professional, but distant. Which left Neal, as much as he hated to admit it, with a very lonely existence.

It took a moment for his key to find the lock before he pushed his apartment open, noticing quickly there were no notes lying on his floor. He had agreed to help the manager out with some basic maintenance, in exchange for discounted rent, he worked most of the day on Saturdays and extra work requests were slipped under his door.

The tiny, dingy studio was better than the roach motel Kramer set him up in when he first got here… but not by much. A chill lingered in the room, since the small radiator was cold as a block of ice. Heating oil cost fifty dollars a month. Since, even with a three hundred dollar discount for helping out, his rent was six twenty five and he had to pay utilities he had to choose… heat or food.

The little apartment had a single small window in the bathroom. The twelve by fifteen living area was lit by a single lightbulb in the middle of the room. The grey smoke stained walls felt like they were closing in on him and the nearly empty room some days.

Neal had done his best to make it feel like a home. He had scrubbed every inch of the place, but he couldn't get the stains out of the carpet. Finding furniture had been a challenge, but he'd found enough to at least sparsely furnish the place. He actually had a decent couch in one corner that he salvaged from going to the dump when a very nicely dressed young woman at the edge of his radius got new living room furniture. His neighbor across the hall was willing to drive it home for him in his beat up old truck for twenty dollars. A couple of thrift store tables and a single dining chair completed his furnishings… he'd looked for a bed too, but anything he could afford he wouldn't have touched with a ten foot pole, so he slept on the couch. His easel sat unused in the corner of the room… the painting on it had been finished for two and half months, but since he couldn't buy any more canvas he left it there to brighten up the dreary space. A cheap sketchpad and a number two pencil, the extent of his current art supplies, lay on the smaller table at the end of the couch.

With a sigh the young man changed into dry clothes before he moved into his kitchen… if you could call two cabinets, a sink, single burner and a tiny refrigerator tucked into one corner of the living space a kitchen. He didn't even have a microwave… though he'd managed to find a toaster oven that heated a little unevenly and a pretty decent coffee pot. He started a pot to brew a single cup of off brand coffee and placing a pan on the burner. He opened his cupboard. Ramon noodles or canned soup…? He chose tomato soup and quickly poured it into the pan with a grimace. Adding a bit of his carefully rationed canned milk to the thin soup shouldn't have felt like a splurge. Once the soup was hot Neal poured half of it into a bowl and counted out eight crackers to add to his plate. He put the rest of the soup in the little refrigerator before grabbing his coffee, plate and a spoon to carry to his wobbly table.

He read while he ate to drown out the silence. June had been kind enough to let him take several books with him when she helped him pack along with a dozen suits and their accessories. She would have sent more, but everything he took had to fit into the two suitcases allowed by the airline. He loved that woman, he thought, remembering her kindness and the small care packages she sent him each month. The soap and aftershave were great, but the little bundle of cookies or pastries she tucked in from her cook were the real life savers.

With dinner out of the way he quietly showered, then lay down on the couch to read. He tried to push the aching silence away with the plot of his favorite novel, but it still pressed him down into the sofa with its heavy hand. He desperately wished he could call someone, but his old phone was a luxury he couldn't afford, he'd traded it in for a cheap prepaid phone with a minimal number of minutes to allow the office to contact him. Internet for his laptop was gone too. Calls and emails home had been sent from work for the last two months. By nine o'clock he gave up reading and turned out the lights… he had been tired the last couple of days anyway and a lingering hint of a headache had taken up residence behind his eyes. He drifted off to dreams of a better life.


	3. Chapter 3

Neal ducked his head and tried to cough discretely into his elbow. It figured that he'd get a cold on the day of a major take down. This case had irritated him from the beginning… while the forgers were decent enough at covering their tracks, their shoddy forgeries were hardly good enough to deserve the name. His professional pride screamed they needed to go to prison… just for calling themselves forgers. It had taken two weeks to find them and another three days of waiting for them to float a new piece onto the art world's shadier markets. Which put Neal in the position to approach as a prospective buyer.

He quietly used the last tissue in his pocket as the three men advanced toward him. He gave his best smile and pushed the thought of his aching muscles aside.

When the painting was uncovered he studied it, carefully keeping the disapproval off his face. It was supposed to be _Albrecht Durer's self-portrait, but while it bore a striking resemblance to that painting the flaws were obvious to his experienced eye. The flow of the curls was noticeably off, and the position of his index finger was slightly to far from the rest of his hand. He realized he's stared to long at the piece when one of the men shot him a glare. For a moment he thought he saw a hint of recognition in the hard brown eyes, but if there was it faded quickly._

"Why are you looking at it like that?!"  
"Just admiring a beautiful piece of art." Neal replied calmly

"Didn't look like admiring." The nasty looking thug growled "If you don't like it then we'll just take our business somewhere else. Neal fought the frown that twitched across his face. He needed a win today. He was tired, achy and painfully stuffed up… closing the case would give him the lift he needed to make it through the rest of the day.

"No!" he said a little too quickly "I like it… how much are you asking again?"

"Two hundred grand. Cash." The smallest of the men said arrogantly. Neal whistled through his teeth, these guys were definitely counting on their buyer's ignorance. "It's a genuine Durer, take it or leave it."

"Oh I'll definitely take it." he carefully lay his leather satchel on the table and pulled out the money. "Take your time counting it." He grinned as he heard the team preparing to move in. Three minute response time they'd told him this morning. It was in the bag. Neal relaxed a little…

Until the big goon who questioned his interest suddenly slammed him backward into the wall. Neal felt something tear his sleeve and gouge into his arm, but he barely noticed. He was to busy trying to reclaim the breath that had been driven from his body.

"I knew I knew you from somewhere!" the man rumbled harshly as he suddenly pressed a gun under Neal's jaw "You were working for the feds in New York. Busted my boss… would have got me too, but I slipped out the back."

"Look that was a one time thing, alright?" Neal raised his hands placatingly, talking quickly to avoid the bullet… as he frantically searched his mind for the case in question. "Guy's got to do what he's got to do to stay out of prison, right?"

"Yeah I guess." The angry man conceded at last. The young man allowed himself to breathe again as the thug slid his gun back into his holster. "But I still owe you for costing me the job." The first blow to the ribs, falling like a thunderbolt, caught him off guard… half a dozen more rained down before the other two men pulled his attacker away.

Neal was leaning heavily on the wall, still trying to remember how to breathe when the team charged in. The glare he received from his new friend promised a slow agonizing death if their paths ever crossed again… Neal gave him a triumphant grin as he was led away. He felt disconnected as he carefully straightened up to meet Kramer's approach, his ribs throbbed distantly and his arm stung. He found a moment to hope nothing was broken before the agent spoke.

"You alright?" he asked, his eyes already on the forgery and the cash on the table beside it. Neal didn't doubt the money would be counted to make sure he hadn't pocketed any of it. The thought had crossed his mind… not a lot, but enough for some Tylenol would been enough today… maybe after they finished counting.

"I'll be fine." Which was probably true, though he didn't feel it at the moment.

"Good" the older man said blandly "Well then, you did good work today Mr. Caffrey. We'll handle the scene, why don't you head back to the office and get started on your report."

Neal nodded wearily, he'd rather go back to his apartment and sleep for a week, but reports it was. He was not walking back to the office though, it might cost him the last couple dollars of his grocery money, but he was taking the bus. As he trudged out to the bus stop he found himself thinking fondly of New York.

After an incident like that Peter… even Diana or Jones, would have insisted on seeing his chest. There would have been jokes about buying him dinner to cover the worry in their eyes. He would have been taken home at least… taken for a check-up if they thought it looked bad enough. He had always been given a ride back to the office after an op, even without being hit. He was so lost in his melancholy thoughts that he was already on the bus before he noticed the blood dripping sluggishly from his right hand.

Great, just great.

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Phillip Kramer was very pleased with his team. The arrests had gone efficiently and all of the forgers were behind bars. He had to admit Caffrey was a smooth talker… there had been a moment there when he thought the boy wasn't going to be able to con his way out of a bullet. Kramer frowned at the jolt of concern that had shot through him. He couldn't start getting soft on the consultant… couldn't fall for the friend con again, but then again, he sighed… getting a man killed on the job… even a con because they failed to recognize a threat in advance… that would be on him. Kramer shook his head… the call to New York he would have had to make in that case would not have been pleasant either.

Caffrey was fine though, his silver tongue had saved him from anything but a few blows. He glanced up at the man writing up his reports industriously. He frowned a little at the younger man's torn sleeve and the blood stain there. He probably should have insisted Caffrey get checked out… he would have if there hadn't been so much that needed his attention earlier. Now the boy seemed fine signing off his computer and wishing the agents good evening as they left. Still he noted that Caffrey seemed… off. For a moment the agent considered checking on the consultant but he said he was ok, no point in coddling him, Kramer decided. After all if the young man's smile seemed a little faded and his movements a bit sluggish and stiff… well it had been a long day.

The knock on his office door was light.

"Here's my report." Caffrey said quietly "If there's nothing else…"

"Go home… get a good night's sleep" Kramer returned "don't forget the briefing at eight thirty tomorrow."

The boy nodded "Have a good night." Kramer scowled as the younger man walked away, firmly pushing aside the urge to offer him a ride home, he was not getting taken in by the shallow smiles again…

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His apartment felt colder than usual when he stepped inside. Neal shivered and pulled his coat closer around his shoulders. The movement hurt enough to take his breath away. He nudged the door closed and leaned on it wearily. Running his right hand over his face reminded him of the jagged cut on his upper arm, as it pulled and burned. The sigh that shuddered through his body felt like an earthquake and he bit his lip to contain the groan that tried to escape. His eyes focused on the folded paper at his feet. He really hoped it was something that could wait until tomorrow… or next week. Getting to his knees to retrieve it nearly reduced him to tears. The sharp intake of breath when he stood up set off the cough that had lingered in his throat all day. Coughing through the pain in his ribs was agony and a few tears escaped.

When he could breathe… and see again he stumbled to his couch. Sinking into its soft cushions he finally looked at the paper in his hand… 3C needed the drain pipe under the kitchen sink repaired… before new tenants arrived preferably. It could wait until Saturday. He leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. He would just rest a few minutes.

The cold woke him. Neal felt like his blood was freezing in his veins. His stuffy head pounded, his chest throbbed and he arm had caught fire while he slept... he glanced at his watch without moving his arm any more than he needed to. One am… he frowned and scrubbed his hand over his face roughly. He needed to shower and change out of his clothes.

In the bathroom he cautiously removed his shirt, flinching as it stuck to the bloody bandage he put on his arm at the office. He carefully tugged that away too before risking a look in the cracked mirror. His chest was a wild swirl of black, purple and green… darkest just left of the bottom of his breast bone. The young man brought his hand up and gingerly touched the spot… he gasped as he pressed gently, blinking away tears. He suspected he felt a slight creak of bone against bone, but he didn't feel any obvious give. Hopefully that meant the damage wasn't too serious. He inspected the line of torn flesh on his arm and grimaced. The two inch long cut wasn't too deep and he doubted it would kill him, even if it did gape open and resume weeping blood as he moved it.

His shower was long and warm. He made a point of carefully cleaning the wound before he stepped out, he really hadn't had a chance to do it at the office. It was bleeding again in earnest when he was finished. He should go get stitches… and maybe an x-ray, but he couldn't afford a doctor's visit and the paperwork for his on the job medical coverage had gotten misplaced and he suspected no one had put much effort into finding it, assuming it would resurface eventually. If it didn't he'd have to start the process over. He rebandaged the wound carefully with bandages stolen from the first aid kit at the office, pulling the gauze tight to stop the slow bleeding. He would be fine.

After he worked his way slowly into his pajamas, the young man surveyed his damaged shirt and jacket…frowning deeply. He might be able to get the blood out of them, but then he's have to sew up the tears. He'd give it a shot tomorrow, it wasn't like he could take them to the cleaners. Tired again, he shuffled back to his couch. This time he lay down and pulled his blankets close. Sleep quickly took his pain away.

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Diana meant to go see Caffrey quickly before she had to report to the Frauds office, to invite him to dinner sometime this week, but her plane arrived late and traffic from the airport was ridiculous. She had to rush not to be late to her first meeting. Her day passed in a long swirl of mind numbing casefiles as she gave her best effort to help her former office catch up on their unsurprising backlog of frauds.

By the time she called it a night she had worked her way through three case files, was pretty sure she had one of them solved… it had to be the cousin with the money problems… and had made extensive notes on the other two… giving herself half a dozen leads to follow up the next day. She felt like she had done her share for the day. She walked out of the office with a smile. A week down here and things would be more or less caught up.

At seven o'clock she sighed as she sank into a quiet booth in a popular little restaurant. She had considered stopping by Art Crimes on her way out to see if she could catch Caffrey before he left for the day, but she was exhausted and starving. All she wanted was a quick meal, a hot bath and a soft bed.

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Neal thought he might be crawling by the time he reached the top of the stairs. He paused every few steps to cough roughly, clinging to the fragile hand rail, as dizziness washed over him. He was pretty sure his chest was cracking open, to spill his congested lungs out into the dim stairway. At this point he wasn't sure that sounded like a bad thing. Except for half a day maintenance work on Saturday, before the manager sent him back to his apartment with a glare Neal had slept most of the weekend, but he was exhausted. At least today had been deskwork because he was sure anything active would have resulted in him embarrassing himself by passing out.

When he finally reached the summit of the nearly unsurmountable stairs he fumbled with his lock, frowning at his right hand. His wrist and fingers were stiff… barely able to grasp the keys and completely incapable of turning the knob.

He pushed the door open and paused as it creaked closed to double over with another cough that racked his frame. He gagged at what it brought up and hurried to the sink to spit it out. Since he was in the kitchen… he probably should eat something, Neal told himself. He opened his cupboards and sighed at the one lonely can of soup on his shelf. He wasn't really hungry anyway.

No one liked to eat alone.

He thought of warm, bright home cooked dinners with Peter and Elizabeth, of a nice bistro with Mozzie, of a summer picnic with Sara after a trip to a museum, deli sandwiches in the conference room with Jones and Diana surrounded by case files and laughter, breakfast with June on the balcony overlooking the city … He flinched at the thought of June and hoped Mozzie was stopping by to have dinner with her sometimes. The overwhelming wave of loneliness tore through his mind leaving only wreckage in its wake. The young man bit his lip, blinking furiously. He would not break down, he would not cry. He was stronger than that.

He left the soup where it was.

Neal stumbled back to his couch and lowered himself slowly into its softness… sleep sounded like the best idea he ever had. As he pulled his covers around him and closed his eyes he tried to ignore the tears that leaked silently from his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

His alarm woke him far too soon. Neal tried to push himself out of his blankets, frowning when his right arm didn't move at all, bent at the elbow it hung frozen and stiff at his side… he managed to sit up before the room spun like a teacup ride on steroids. He clenched his eyes closed and gripped the blankets to steady himself. It didn't work… His muscles clenched suddenly in an agonizing convulsion that tore through him in repetitive waves causing his body to jerk roughly. Neal lost track of everything as he rode out the unexpected pain. When it finally settled, he was slumped sideways again, lying awkwardly on his immobile arm. A bout of coughing stole his breath and nearly his consciousness… defeated, he found his phone by touch, his eyes too heavy to open.

"Hello" Kramer sounded distracted.

"It's Caffrey." His voice cracked over the two words. He cleared his throat to continue. "Need… a sick… day" the short sentence left him breathless.

"Are you sick?" the older man asked suspiciously.

"Yes" he whispered.

"Then I suppose you should take a day. If I find out you were up to something… you will go back to prison. I will not hesitate." The older man warned grimly.

"I… know…" Neal gasped "thanks" he ended the call. He knew he should go to the doctor, but he couldn't even attempt to sit up again. He could call for an ambulance, but… the thought slipped away from him and he didn't feel the phone slide from his fingers to the floor as he drifted back off to his dreams and the entirely different kind of pain they brought.

Agent Kramer hung up the phone and frowned. The call was a surprise. Caffrey had not called in sick a single time in the three months he had been working with them. What was he up to the older man wondered as he drove into the office, of course the kid sounded pretty rough maybe he really was sick. He sighed deeply considering the possibilities. Once inside he had one of the younger agent's pull up Caffrey's tracking data. The boy was at home it appeared well that was good he probably was just feeling under the weather. He'd been fine at work yesterday hadn't he? Come to think of it the boy had been a little off… quiet and distracted. Honestly he had been a little … quiet since the take down last Thursday. Briefly Kramer recalled how stiffly the young man moved that afternoon and the blood on his sleeve. Was it possible he had been hurt more seriously than a couple of bruises. He quickly shook the thought off. Caffrey said he was ok. If he thought he needed to be checked out or even that there was any leverage to be gained by it he would have said something, right? Of course he would have the agent reasoned.

"Wilson?" he asked the young agent in front of him "Did Caffrey seem alright to you yesterday?"

"I think he had a cold or the flu that's been going around actually."

"I see…" Kramer said thoughtfully. Well if the kid called in again tomorrow perhaps he would stop by and check on him… oh that reminded him, Caffrey's insurance paperwork was still misplaced. He should probably get someone to look for that if anyone had a spare moment today.

"Where would I find Neal Caffrey" Diana asked the young agent sitting at the first desk she reached "Is he still in?"

"Never came in today." The kid replied without looking up.

"Is that normal?"

"Never happened before." He shrugged "Course he's only been here a few months."

"Do you know why?"

"I heard he called in sick." The agent looked up finally "Probably a good thing, he looked like crud yesterday. Coughing all over everything… looked like he might have a fever too, not that I got close enough to check or anything." He hastily amended "Whatever he has, I did not want it."

"Thanks" Diana bit her lip "Could you give me his address?" the young man looked up at her startled then smiled knowingly, his eyes running over her body appreciatively. "Tonight would be good." She snapped.

"Oh, yeah right… um… hold on I'll look that up for you." He turned back to his computer.

Diana pulled up to the curb and studied the crumbling building doubtfully. It was in fact an apartment complex, but it didn't look like the sort of place she would ever find the smooth con artist. With a little frown she climbed out of the car and began the assent up the grimy badly lit stairs. On the second floor she paused, listening to the sounds of yelling seeping through the thin walls before she quickly made her way up to the fourth level. Her brisk knock went unanswered.

"FBI Open up Caffrey!" she called though the panel. Only silence responded "Neal… It's Diana. Open up or I will kick the door in."

"Hey, no need for that." The old man that appeared behind her looked like a part of the building. "I'm the manager here. What's the problem?"

"I'm Agent Berrigan with the FBI… I'm… doing a welfare check on the tenant in this apartment." She hoped the man wasn't any brighter than he looked so he wouldn't realize the FBI didn't do welfare checks.

"Oh well then…" he gave her a suspicious, knowing look "no need for getting violent… I have the key here… somewhere." She bit her tongue while he wrestled with his key ring for a small eternity. "Hope he's ok" the man muttered "Nice man… helps out some for lower rent. Good with 'is hands."

Finally… finally the door swung open. Stepping inside Diana let her eyes take a quick survey of the space. Neat and tidy like she would expect of Caffrey, but the walls and carpet were stained and worn. The small space was dark and frigid too.

"Why is it so cold in here?"

"Kid never paid for any heating oil."

"Why wouldn't he pay for he-?" her voice broke off with a snap as she caught sight of the still figure slumped over on the couch. Neal's head rested on a pillow at one end, but his legs hung tangled in blankets from the front as though he had, at some point, made an effort to sit up. He lay in eerie silence as she approached and her breath caught in her throat as his face came into view. His cheeks wore a deathly grey pallor and his lips were a faded blue. "Neal?" she called gently, fearfully. He looked awful. He looked… like he was already gone as he lay there…so still and far too peaceful to be sleeping. She focused on his chest, but saw no movement, no sound of breathing reached her ears. Swallowing harshly she reach a trembling hand to his throat, certain his skin would be cool to the touch.

Diana gasped in surprise at the heat radiating from the still form, burning through her fingertips. A faint rapid pulse danced weakly beneath her touch. A sigh of tremendous relief rushed from her lips before very real worry took its place. The young man hadn't stirred at the contact, clearly he was very ill.

"Caffrey you better hang in there…" she growled as she pulled out her phone. Her words sparked the barest twitch of movement and an unintelligible whisper from the sick man. He offered a weak cough before relaxing completely once more. Diana lay her hand on his chest to feel the faint flutter of breath there as she dialed 911. "I'm calling an ambulance" she told the building manager hovering in the doorway… "Get down there and bring them up here as soon as they arrive."

The wait dragged time to a crawl as she felt the faint breathing under her hand falter, stutter and resume again and again. Diana tried not to think too much about the sharp protrusion of Neal's ribs though his thin shirt or the way his cheek bones seemed much too pronounced. She wondered how long he had been sick and why no one had noticed he needed help. His chest suddenly contracted violently under her hand then his legs, hanging from the couch jerked sharply. His neck twisted, painfully pulling his head backward. Neal made a small strangled cry of agony before his limbs fell loose again. His muscles spasmed harshly twice more as she watched helplessly.

The paramedics finally arrived in a rush of activity and questions.

"Ma'am," one addressed her "Do you know what he might have taken?" the thirty something man with tired eyes asked.

"Nothing." She glared icicles at him "Caffrey doesn't take drugs, he drinks some, but not to excess… he doesn't like to be out of control." She explained tightly, surprised at how angry the question made her.

"I have to be sure, ma'am, over dosing is a common problem in this neighborhood, even among nonusers." She tried not to think too much about the implications of that and consciously didn't look around the dismal apartment.

"He's not suicidal either."

"Are you certain?"

"Don," the other paramedic called quietly "I don't think this is an OD…" He'd cut away Neal's shirt revealing a kaleidoscope of deep ugly bruising splashed across a far too obvious ribcage… much of the muscle tone that had always defined the fit body was gone, leaving protruding bones under ashy skin. A bandage taped to his stiff right arm was crusted with green and yellow ooze as well as spots of dark blood. "There is a lot of fluid in his lungs…right arm is… Ma'am when was his last tetanus shot?"

"I don't know exactly" she replied as calmly as she could over a rising tide of anger. Someone did this to him. "It's in his records I could probably find out… about six years ago I'd guess."

"Temp's one oh six point three." Don broke in

"Respiration is thirty two and very shallow… I'm not hearing any air moving on the left side, at all."

"Pulse is one forty… O2 is at seventy-three…"

"Get the mask on him. I'll get a line started…" the older medic spared her a glance "We are going to transport him to Fairfax. If you want to meet us there…"

"Is he going to be ok?" she needed to know. The man's grim expression told her far too much before he spoke.

"We'll do our best."

They lifted him gently from the couch onto the gurney and before she could blink they were gone. Diana took one quick survey of the dreary apartment, it didn't take long for her see more than enough, and she hurried to her car.

Peter had just walked through his front door… had had exactly enough time to kiss his wife one time before his phone rang. He smiled as he recognized Diana's number.

"Hello?"

"You need to get down here boss." She told him breathlessly

"What's going on?"

"It's Caffrey, he's sick." She hesitated "It's bad … Get down here. Bring the little guy if you can find him quickly, but you need to be here as soon as possible." He heard a car door slam before she continued "They are taking him to Fairfax hospital."

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure, but…" she trailed off "He should have seen a doctor days ago. Just get here."

She hung up abruptly leaving him in stunned silence. Elizabeth watched him with concerned eyes. His face probably showed his worry more than he knew.

"Hon, I need to go to DC tonight. Do you still have Havisham's number?"

"Yeah I do? What's going on?"

"Call him… tell him he needs to get to Fairfax hospital in the DC area." He was already pulling his coat back on.

"Honey." She demanded "take a breath and tell me what is going on." Her voice was firm and clear.

"That was Diana, she is in DC. She was going to stop by and say hello to Neal."

"Ok?"

"She says he's sick. Apparently pretty sick. It sounded like he was being taken to the hospital by ambulance."

"Is he going to be ok?"

"I don't know. She just said I needed to be there."

"Will you get in trouble?"

"I don't know… but hon if it is really bad… if he might be… I don't think I care about getting in trouble."

"Alright…" she took a deep breath "Call me when you know something."

The 200 mile drive seemed to take forever though he drove as fast as he dared. Parking in the hospital lot he rushed inside. Diana was pacing… apparently oblivious to his arrival as she chewed her lower lip. He didn't recognize anyone else in the waiting room.

"Diana?" she looked up when he called her name. Peter flinched back from the cold fury in her eyes. "How is he?" she shook her head.

"I don't know…" She sank wearily into a seat. "They won't tell me anything."

"Maybe they'll talk to me. I used to be on his medical records as an emergency contact. Hopefully his records haven't been updated."

When he introduced himself and asked for information the receptionist simply told him to take a seat, the doctor would speak to him shortly which Peter took to hopefully mean he was still a contact. Returning to sit beside his agent he asked.

"What happened to him? Do you have any idea?"

"I don't." her eyes hardened. "Actually I can take a guess, but I don't have any details."

"What do you think happened?"

"Do you remember that motel the Bureau wanted you to put him up in?"

"Yeah, that he stayed less than one night in."

"Do you really blame him, boss? You didn't really expect him to stay there long, did you?"

"No. I knew he had resources. I just expected him to need a couple of days to… access them."

"Well the place he is living here… it looks about like the apartment equivalent of that dump. The building was filthy, run down… a fire trap really."

"I see"

"Oh it gets better, boss." She snapped with humorless laugh

"What?"

"I opened the cabinets in what passed for a kitchen in that place… he had one can of soup, that was all the food in the place. It's five days until the first of the month."

"Maybe he just hadn't made it to the store… I mean if he's been sick." Because Neal would have told him if he was going hungry… wouldn't he? No probably not…Peter admitted, he wouldn't want to worry me…

"What else?" he asked, terrified of the answer.

"There was no heat in his apartment. The rest of the building was warm, but his room was like ice. So I asked the manager why it was so cold. He said Neal never paid for heating oil."

"D*** it!"

"He also said he gave Neal a discount on rent for helping out with some building maintenance…"

"Now that sounds like Neal."

"From nine fifty to six twenty five… no utilities included." Diana looked at him in furious dismay. "I think they were only giving him the state allowance." Peter didn't have to do the math to feel sick. "There were no art supplies, no wine, his phone service has been canceled… I saw a prepaid card on the table… and his ribs..." she swallowed harshly.

"What about them?" his own anger was building rapidly.

"The paramedics cut his shirt off…His ribs were sticking out so much it scared me, all of his bones were really… he looked... bad, boss, really, really bad." She dropped her eyes abruptly, but not before he caught the tears swelling there. Diana didn't cry. "He looked… dead."

"Diana?" at his terrified tone she squared her shoulders and blinked away her tears.

"He was alive, but when I first saw him lying there… his skin was grey and his lips were blue and he was so… very, very still… I honestly expected him to be cold when I checked his pulse. He was burning up. I have never been so relieved to find someone running a fever in my life." she chuckled without humor again. "Then they cut his shirt off and he was so thin and his chest was all bruises… and his arm had a bandaged cut that was… clearly infected. They took him away after that… fast. There were several old bandages in his trash… a couple of them were bloody…bled through. He should have had stitches, antibiotics and a tetanus shot five or six days ago."

"Agent Burke" the unfamiliar voice cut through the horrifying conversation. He stood to face the man about his own age in faded green scrubs. "You are Mr. Caffrey's emergency contact?"

"Neal… he prefers Neal." his stomach clenched for bad news, because if he was alright Neal would have told them that.

"Alright." The doctor gave him a sympathetic smile. "Right this way so we can talk in private." Peter followed the man down the hall into a small conference room. "May I ask, what exactly is your relationship with… Neal."

"He's my friend. He doesn't really have any family so…"

"Alright." The doctor sighed as he took a seat. "I'm afraid I don't have good news for you."


	5. Chapter 5

The phone call from Mrs. Suit… Elle, hadn't given him much information, she claimed she didn't know any more, but what she had said told him plenty. The message that Neal was in the hospital was enough to get him moving. Obviously there was something seriously wrong with his friend. Nightmare scenarios played through Mozzie's mind as he rushed to the airport and "borrowed" a friend's plane… Neal had been shot during one of the FBI's ridiculous assignments… stabbed in a mugging walking home in the dark… had been hit by a car… thrown from a building…he could think of a hundred more.

He quickly started the little aircraft's engine praying to every deity he could think of that it wasn't as serious as it had sounded when Elizabeth told him Peter had received a call from Washington telling him that Neal was in the hospital. The fact that The Suit had instructed her to contact him worried him immensely. The agent wouldn't want him there if he wasn't afraid it might be his last chance to see their mutual friend.

His take off was choppy as he jerked the throttle back and forced the plane to rise to sharply, but he didn't care. Didn't care that he would owe the owner of the craft an enormous favor for letting him use it without asking. He'd call him in the morning and work out the details… once he knew Neal would be alright. He would be alright… he was Neal after all. He would be alright because he had to be.

The flight was blessedly short, but finding a cab took a thousand years to his fretful mind. When he finally arrived at the hospital his body balked at walking through the doors. Three times he approached then hesitated. It wasn't even his very reasonable fear of hospitals that held him back, Mozzie finally acknowledged. He was terrified of what he might find out when he walked through the sliding doors in front of him.

He took a deep breath, trying to still his trembling and hurried inside. Good or bad he had to know.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

The doctor wasn't kidding when he said his news wasn't good. Thankfully it wasn't the news Peter had been terrified of hearing, but it was far too close for comfort. Pneumonia so severe they had drained his lungs… and expected to do so again in the next few hours. A broken rib that had shifted slightly, not enough to puncture his lung, but enough to irritate the lining of the organ, five bruised ribs, a deep jagged two inch long laceration, a raging staph infection… and tetanus. Peter felt distinctly sick as the doctor explained the severity of the situation.

"But will he be alright?" he asked the question that tried to choke him. The doctor sighed and shook his head.

"It is much too soon to know." He gave Peter a professionally sympathic look "It depends on how well he responds to the treatment. We are giving him TIG and a tetanus booster as well as antibiotics and antivirals to combat the infection and pneumonia. He is also receiving high doses of muscle relaxers to reduce the spasms and painkillers. He was intubated enroute, but since we drained his lungs and the rigidity doesn't seem to be affecting his neck and throat we have reduced him to O2 by mask at this time, though that may change. We have given him fever reducers. They have done their job and brought his temperature down to just below one oh four."

"One oh four? That's down?"

"It is… by nearly three degrees. His condition was very… dangerous when he arrived" The doctor hesitated "To be entirely honest… I doubt he would have survived another hour without medical intervention. We are doing everything we can… now it comes down to whether he has the strength to fight this." He frowned, his eyes troubled "Tell me, Agent Burke, has your friend ever had an eating disorder?"

"No never. Why do you ask?"

"He is… I'd estimate, about twenty- five pounds underweight." Peter clenched his jaw to contain his anger. "I'd like to get some nutrients and calories into him as soon as possible. I'll need consent for an NG tube."

"Do whatever you need to." He took a slow deep breath to steady his voice "Can I see him?"

"Yes. Room 126a. He may regain consciousness, but his fever is still very high and he is quite heavily drugged. He will probably not be fully lucid."

"I understand. Thank you." He forced himself to stay long enough to shake hands with the man.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Diana fidgeted quietly. It seemed like Peter had been back with the doctor for an hour. Suddenly he appeared in the door way and motioned for her to follow.

"Come on." He didn't even hesitate as he strode past her. His brown eyes were hard as stone she noticed and his jaw was clenched tightly.

"What is going on, boss?" she hurried to keep pace with his rapid steps "How is Neal?" she held her breath, hoping he wouldn't say the words she feared given his stricken expression.

"We can see him now." He said with tight control.

"He's alive, right, boss?"

"For now." His voice broke when he said it and he blinked rapidly. He didn't say anymore until they reached the room. Peter stepped inside ahead of her and she watched his tense back stiffen even more before she followed. Diana took a moment to study the still form in the bed. To be honest she was relieved. The ashy blue cast had faded from his skin and he looked more alive… though she couldn't put her finger on how.

"He looks better."

"This is better?"

"Much." She smiled at her superior. "He'll be alright boss."

"They don't know if he-"

"He'll be alright. This is Caffrey… he'll make it." she watched him nod doubtfully. He walked silently across the room and gently… awkwardly lifted the young man's left hand and squeezed carefully. He couldn't seem to find any words to say, just swallowed hard again and again, blinking away the tears that tried to form.

To her immense relief and surprise the younger man stirred weakly and pulled his eyes open as though they weighed a hundred pounds.

"Neal?" Peter's voice cracked "Hey…"

Caffrey muttered something behind the mask that covered half his features. His eyes frowned slightly and she assumed his mouth followed.

"It's ok..." Peter was saying "You're alright. I'm here..." even moving closer Diana couldn't make out the response, but Peter smiled fondly and patted Neal's hand uncomfortably as his eyes slid closed again.

"You catch what he said?" she asked.

"Some of it. He thought he was dreaming." Peter gave the limp hand another squeeze "He said it was a nice dream." He looked up at her then with horror and pain over a simmering volcano of fury in his eyes "Stay with him, Diana…"

"Where are you going, boss?"

"To take care of some things." His eyes glittered as hard and sharp as diamonds "This shouldn't have happened." With that he blew out of the room like a thunderstorm.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Mozzie edged closer to the reception desk watching the plump young woman like a hawk. He waited patiently, keeping out of sight. As soon as she took a bathroom break he would be able to access her computer and find out where they were keeping his friend. He wanted so badly to just ask her, but Neal's warning that they could both be arrested if The New Suit caught them talking rang in his ears.

"Room 126 A" a familiar voice behind him said quietly, causing the small man to startle slightly. "Go see him Mozzie, he needs all the support he can get. It's bad." Footsteps continued up the hall.

"How bad?" he asked turning quickly. The look the Suit gave him tore his heart out. It had to be devastatingly bad to put that look in the other man's eyes.

"Bad" he said, a crack in his voice splitting the single word into painful shards. "Diana's with him… no one else. Go see him." the other man advised. Then he was gone.

Mozzie made his way to 126 A with trepidation. Bad could mean any number of things. He tried not to picture his best friend on life support with a bullet in his head…his neck broken from a six story fall… as he forced himself not to run through the halls.

Through the door of the room he could see the lady suit sitting in a chair drawn up close to the bed. It looked from his angle as though she might be holding Neal's hand, but that seemed unlikely. Her lips were moving and he caught her voice faintly, but the words escaped his ears. What he did hear was a pitifully weak sound of pain from the bed which brought him into the room in a rush.

Neal looked terrible, nearly as bad as his worst nightmare imaginings, deathly pale, half his face hidden behind an oxygen mask, IV lines, catheters and wires running over his painfully thin body. His eyes were closed, but as the small man watched his body jerked in small but violent spasms and another pained sound was wrenched from his throat. Lady suit rose without seeming to notice the new visitor and lay one hand firmly on Neal's shoulder.

"It's alright." She kept her voice very low, but this time he caught the words "Shhh… it's going to be ok." the comforting words sounded awkward and strange in her mouth as her other hand pushed the nurse call. "Relax Caffrey… I know it hurts… shhh. Your little friend is here." She said without looking up from Neal's pain twisted features "Would he make you feel a little better?" for a moment the head on the pillow almost appeared to nod then Neal suddenly cried out.

"NO!" the word carried hardly any sound and was nearly lost behind the mask but the desperation and agony in it came through with tremendous force "NO… can't be here… can't…pr'son!"

"Shhh. It's ok" Lady Suit soothed "No one is going to prison tonight" she waved Mozzie closer with an impatient gesture.

"Can't see 'im… arr'st… please… don't…" the rest trailed off into indecipherable mumbling as Neal seemed to drift back off to sleep. The young woman grabbed Mozzie's wrist and forcibly moved him closer to the bed. Neal's left hand and his head still twitched slightly though he seemed unconscious.

"He's not entirely… aware." Her tone sounded apologetic. "Just tell him you're here and it's alright if he seems to be waking up." She turned away as if to leave.

"Where are you going?" he asked as a sudden burst of near panic clutched his heart.

"To find a nurse… the muscle relaxers as supposed to prevent the spasms like that. Talk to him… let him know you're here." She urged.

"Oh…" and then he was alone with his best friend and for the first time since they met he had no idea what to say to Neal. The small man's vision blurred and he hastily pulled off his glasses to clean them. It had to be something on the lenses because he was not crying.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

He pounded heavily on his old mentor's door. Peter wanted answers and he wanted them now! He raised his hand to beat the door again when Kramer's wife Marie suddenly stood there.

"Oh." She smiled "Peter what a pleasant surprise. Philip is in his study. Why don't you go right in?"

"Thank you." He managed to remember his manners… barely before he charged into the study.

"Petey… what brings you to Washington?" The words were polite, but the tone held a warning edge, as though to remind him he wasn't supposed to be here.

"Where's Neal, Kramer?" He asked as calmly as he could force himself to be when fighting the urge to strangle someone.

"I don't know. Inside his radius, his anklet hasn't been triggered."

"Where is he right now? Pull up his data."

"Why?" Kramer asked with his pleasant smile still in place.

"Just do it!" Peter snapped and his mentor gave him a frown, but opened his computer

"I told you that boy needed strict rules." He said as he started up the machine "He hasn't gotten into any trouble at all since he's been in DC. I made it very clear his criminal friends hanging around would not be tolerated nor would any of his shenanigans. He's been a real asset to my team… good work ethic for a criminal I have to admit." He pulled up the tracking data on the screen. "See there he is firmly inside his radius."

"Where is he?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you want… he's right there." He gestured to the screen then frowned slightly "At Fairfax hospital…"

"Yes, right there." Peter ground the words between his teeth before he released them "In the hospital. ICU room 126 A… Why is he in the hospital Philip?"

"I have no idea." The man seemed genuinely surprised and mildly concerned.

"He's there because he didn't receive medical attention when he needed it. He has several badly bruised and one broken rib and a cut on his arm that needed stitches nearly a week ago."

"He said he was fine."

"So you know when it happened?" his voice rose sharply

"He got into a little scuffle with a suspect last week. I asked if he was ok. He said he was fine, so I sent him to do his report. Kid never complained he was hurt."

"You would have insisted an agent get checked out, at least by another agent."

"He's not an agent, Petey and I was busy."

"But he is a human being that you sent in there… that you were responsible for. All it would have taken was a quick look and you would have seen he was bleeding… I'm pretty sure it was more than a few drops."

"Well yeah I saw he had some blood on his sleeve, but he said he was fine. He's an adult and more than capable of applying a Bandaid."

"It was a two inch gash, half an inch deep in the back of his right arm! I'm certain it was bleeding enough to need a pressure bandage. Have you ever tried to put one of those on your own arm? With a broken rib?!"

"It was a minor injury. Apparently he managed, as he didn't bleed out."

"Yeah, he managed… until his constricted breathing caused pneumonia and he developed tetanus and a full blown Staph infection from the cut. He managed until he was lying unconscious and barely breathing in his apartment with a temperature over a hundred and six!" his voice rose farther as his anger tried to choke him.

"If he was that sick, Petey, he should have gone to the doctor. He was in the office yesterday and he was fine."

"He was not fine. One of your junior agents told Diana he was noticeably sick."

"Yes, well I suppose he did have a bit of a cough, but I was very busy… I didn't have time to take his temperature."

"A man ended up in critical condition under your watch and all you have to say is you were busy?! You didn't have time?!" his hands clenched into fists a his sides and it took every ounce of self-control Peter possessed not smash one of them into that calm face.

"I do have a job to do outside of watching him. Now if you are finished with your lecture, tell him I'm sorry he is ill and to feel better soon."

"He may be dying… do you understand that? DYING!"

"Please, Petey" Kramer sighed impatiently "I really don't have time for dramatics. The boy is young and healthy, he'll be fine. I believe you know the way out, I have a busy evening planned with my wife."

"Alright I'll go." He turned on his heel quickly certain if he didn't leave now he would assault the older man, and that would do nothing to help his friend. "But this isn't finished." Peter thought as he strode from the house without saying goodbye to Marie. "You don't have time to talk to me. We'll see if you have time to talk to a review board."

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Kramer watched the younger agent storm out before he sank into his desk chair wearily. Peter always was a bit dramatic, he told himself, and his objectivity is completely shot when it came to Caffrey, but the fact remained the kid was in the hospital apparently. He allowed his frown to deepen. Had he gotten anyone to find the consultants insurance paperwork yesterday? No he had gotten caught up in a meeting and it completely slipped his mind. He swore under his breath softly, he would have to find it in the morning and back date it.

Peter was right he should have made sure the d*** kid got checked out, but he said he was fine. Who in their right mind says they are fine with a broken rib. Someone in shock, his mind supplied from his first aid training, which is why it was Bureau policy that every agent got checked out after a violent altercation even if it seemed minor. He knew better, he'd just been so carefully trying not to get taken in by any of Caffrey's scams he had missed the obvious.

He slammed his fist into his desk in frustration. This was going to bite him in the butt, he just knew it was.

"Philip?" Marie's voice interrupted his thoughts "is everything alright? Peter seemed very upset when he left." Her gentle face looked concerned.

Kramer sighed… and he was going to have to explain the whole situation to his wife…


	6. Chapter 6

"Philip?" Marie was still waiting for an explanation. He sighed and hung his head.

"Did I mention I was working with a full time CI again?"

"No you did not." She frowned "Is that a good idea? I mean… after Tommy…"

"He was Petey's CI… he was headed for the same heartbreak I went through with Tommy. I was just trying to protect him. Of course Petey doesn't see it that way…"

"So he came here to argue with you about it?"

"The kid got hurt on my watch. I wasn't serious but…"

"But Peter blames you."

"I'm afraid he has some reason…" he sighed again and pushed himself to his feet. "I should have gotten Caffrey checked out. He said he was fine but I could see he wasn't, I was just so busy. We had just made a major bust and I needed to secure the evidence."

"Philip…" she looked at him sharply

"Now he's developed some complications from the injury that landed him in the hospital."

"Oh" she was frowning disapprovingly so he hurried on.

"Petey is very protective of the kid. And Caffrey is a world class con artist who could play up an illness. I'm sure it isn't that serious. The kid will be fine but I still messed up. I should have gotten him checked out."

"Philip" she glared at him. Then her expression softened slightly "this young man isn't Tommy."

"I know that." he snapped.

"Then he has done something while he worked with you to make you think he's the same?"

"No. he works hard, takes any risk we ask to close the case, keeps his head down…" he scowled "but it's an act I know it is. They are all the same."

"So you have been treating this young man like he already betrayed you? Like he is using you somehow, without any proof?"

"No." he shook his head "no, I… I have been keeping him at a distance. We aren't friends but I've never been anything but polite to him…"

"Polite?" she raised an eyebrow "When he was visibly hurt?"

He deflated. Allowing his shoulders to slump in defeat, he nodded.

"I expected better of you, Philip." She said disappointment clear in her eyes.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

The apartment was just as grim and dreary as Diana had implied, Peter thought as he turned slowly in the middle of the room, even worse really. The yellow tape and two or three crime scene techs in residence when he arrived had surprised him. They had cleared out quickly after he explained the suspect in the assault they were investigating was already in custody.

Now he stood alone in the middle of the small windowless room clutching Neal's copy of his work release contract with the Washington office that one of the techs had handed him. The young man had shook his head in disbelief at the budget neatly printed in the margins commenting on the impossibility of living on seven fifty a month in DC.

This place was not the home of the Neal Caffrey Peter knew…and yet he could see hints of his friend in the gloomy space. In the ten books lined up neatly along the wall at the back of his dinner table. In his carefully cleaned and pressed suits in the closet. The agent stopped to inspect the one suit jacket hanging in the bathroom… a faint hint of a stain that might have been blood slightly discolored a large portion of the right sleeve beginning just below a line of tiny careful stitches. Neal had obviously been trying to salvage the coat, unlike the white shirt stuffed unceremoniously into the wastebasket. The brown spot on the arm was far too visible to save the garment, even Peter could see that.

The single can of soup in the cupboard taunted him, drawing his eyes down to the papers in his hand. Six twenty five for rent, sixty for electricity, and thirty for water leaving just thirty-five dollars for enough food to last a whole month. He clenched the papers tightly, they didn't give him the living allowance. He resisted the urge to punch the wall as he strode out of the room and then down the stairs.

Peter did pound on the building manager's door, bringing the old man to the door sporting a baseball bat and a scowl.

"Who're you? Wadda you want?" the man snapped.

"I'm with the FBI." He offered a quick flick of his badge "I want to ask you some questions about Neal Caffrey." At the blank look he amended "The tenant in four B"

"Oh yeah. Nice guy… real shame about him."

"You gave him a discount on his rent. In exchange for some work." Peter tried to smile at him "tell me exactly what that involved."

"It was just some basic maintenance and clean up. He knew more than he let on about building maintenance." The man shook his head. "When he asked what he could do to get me to give him a discount…" the man shook his head. "It wasn't the first time someone made me an offer like that. Had one guy few years ago offer me drugs. Been offered sex and forged checks… so when I told him I wanted him to scrub the stairs and fix toilets I expected him to say no way."

"But he didn't?" because that didn't sound like Neal, at all.

"He made a face… but he agreed." The old man frowned "Got the impression the boy was desperate. And" he continued "He showed up every Saturday… worked hard too. Gave seven… eight hours every week. He worked evenings some too, if we had a work order that couldn't wait for the weekends. Real shame about that boy. Must have just got to be too much for him… always seemed like he came from better. Figured he was down on his luck. Do you know what it was he took?"

"Nothing. He's sick, pneumonia."

"Ahh… well I can't say I'm surprised by that either." The old man shook his head.

"Why?" Peter asked

"I sent him home early this weekend… he looked terrible. Kept coughing. Had a bandage on his arm too. He didn't say anything, but I noticed it bled through a couple of times in the few hours he worked."

"I see."

"I asked if he'd seen a doctor. He said he couldn't afford one and his insurance papers at work got lost before they processed through."

Peter swore softly, before remembering the elderly manager and his manners.

"Thank you. You have been very helpful. I'm sorry I woke you."

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

It was after midnight before the Suit returned to the dim, nearly silent hospital room. Mozzie remained stiffly beside his friend as the Lady Suit who had been fading in her seat sat up straighter when her boss entered.

"Diana, I need your laptop." The suit said, barely meeting her eyes, clearly distracted.

"Sure thing Boss." She responded quickly "What's up?"

"I need to write up what I found while it's still fresh in my mind."

She nodded gravely passing over the computer. Mozzie frowned. How could they think of work here? He cleared his throat sharply. The other man looked up as though just noticing him.

"Havisham…" Mozzie noticed his gaze didn't linger on him, but drifted to the bed for a long moment before he pulled himself together to ask. "How are you holding up?"

"How could you let this happen to him?" the small man snapped, suddenly furious. "You said he was your friend but you let-!"

"I was forbidden to visit him for six months." Peter returned angrily "Where have you been? Why didn't you check on him?!"

"I…" he began unsure what he intended to say.

"Stop it." the Lady Suit broke in "Both of you. None of us knew this was happening. Right now we just need to take care of the situation…"

"You're right." The suit agreed sadly. Mozzie sighed and nodded wordlessly. "I am filing a negligence complaint against the Art Crimes division first thing in the morning." Peter said into the painful silence.

"Do you think that will be enough?" the woman asked.

"No." He shook his head as he turned on the computer. "But what I want to do to them… wouldn't help Neal."

"I have connections…"Mozzie offered quietly. "It would never be connected to us…" for one shocking moment the Suits looked at each other then turned to him, clearly tempted by his offer.

"If Kramer dies… Art Crimes would just reassign Neal within the division." The young woman finally pointed out.

"And he needs to come home." Her boss agreed.

"And how do you propose to make that happen?" Mozzie asked. He frowned as the Suit continued typing. "What are you doing?"

"Writing up my complaint." He glanced at the small man "We need to disgrace Kramer, discredit him and his department as supervisors for Neal. He has been well behaved for them but… this" he waved gravely at their far to quiet friend "should provide sufficient proof of their failure."

"I should think so." Mozzie growled. "We could take it to the media."

" **I** can't do that." The Suit frowned a little "But it certainly would get the higher ups attention if **someone** did." Mozzie smiled grimly. He didn't need the suggestion spelled out, he started mentally running through his DC contacts.

"What should I do?" The younger suit asked anxiously. Her boss frowned thoughtfully.

"I know it's been a long day Diana, but you should get back to New York… tonight."

"Boss?"

"It would help if Agent Hughes was on our side… get him out of bed if he isn't up by the time you get there. Tell him everything."

"I can do that." She began collecting her coat and keys.

"You might stopping by to see June." Mozzie suggested suddenly "I hear her lawyer is very good."

"A law suit?" Peter seemed to consider. "It could work. Yes, go by Mrs. Ellingtion's home after you speak to Hughes."

"Will do boss."

"Diana" he said abruptly as she neared the door. "Could you stay with Neal for a few minutes while I call my wife? I promised her I'd let her know how he was and I almost forgot."

"Sure thing Boss."

Mozzie watched him leave… noting that the computer was left open and powered up as he left. He smiled as he quickly read through the report, though it faded rapidly as the facts of his friend's case presented themselves to him. His fury build nearly to a tipping point and he briefly considered contacting his connections despite his promise not to. Then drawing a deep breath he looked up to find the Lady Suit watching him suspiciously and he gave her a smile he wished was disarming. She shook her head gravely and Mozzie moved away from the laptop.

"I wouldn't have to have him killed…" he said quietly "There are things I could have him given… make his bosses think he was losing his mind…"

"Neal doesn't need revenge." The woman said fiercely "He needs to get out of this place. Mozzie sighed and nodded stiffly. She was right… for now.

He took a moment to pat his friend's shoulder self-consciously, unwilling to leave him like this, even to help him, but he had a job that must be done. "I have to go, Neal" he whispered "I'll be back. You better not…"His voice cracked "run away while I'm gone." Collecting his thoughts and unruly emotions, Mozzie wiped his glasses quickly then hurried away. He had a friend who knew several reporters.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Elizabeth lay in her bed trying to convince her mind to sleep. Her husband had promised he would call when he had news. She knew Washington was almost four hours away, but now nearly seven hours after Peter rushed out of the house she had still heard nothing. She shifted, trying to get more comfortable.

She was worried about her husband driving so far, tired as he was after working all day. She was worried about Neal too. How sick would the young man have to be to consent to the humiliation of being carried away in an ambulance? For that matter how gravely ill must he have been to prompt Diana to call one rather than simply bundling him into her car?

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice her phone ringing on the bedside table for a moment. When it finally penetrated her mind Elizabeth grabbed the device anxiously.

"Hon?" She answered "Is everything alright? How's Neal?"

"He's…" she heard Peter draw a shaky breath "He's…" and suddenly, to her surprise and dismay her husband was crying. Elizabeth bit her lip as the implications of that sank in.

"Honey?" she called gently "What happened?"

"He was hurt, starving, freezing and alone in that place and no one cared." Peter told her brokenly. "Until his body just…" a deep shuttering breath gushed though the line. "I have to bring him home Elle."

"Of course you do." She agreed, trying to cling to some hope he meant Neal himself and not just his body. 'But hon… is he…alive? She asked hesitantly

"Barely." He was beginning to get his emotions under control again. "I don't know if he will be by morning…it's bad… and the worst part is it was so preventable."

"Do you want me to come to you, hon?" She asked because there was so much pain in his voice.

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble." His answer twisted her stomach. For Peter to actually ask for her comforting presence told her more about how grave the situation must be than any other part of the conversation.

"I'll get the first train in the morning." She told him gently "I'll be there by noon… tell Neal I'll see him tomorrow."

"I will… though I doubt he will understand it."

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

At five thirty-two Diana found herself knocking on Agent Reese Hughes front door almost frantically. When the senior agent finally opened up his expression did not bode well for her career's future.

"Agent Berrigan," he scowled "I trust you have a good reason for this… because unless someone is dead-"

"Not quite sir." She steadied her exhausted mind to the best of her ability "But pretty d*** close. It's about Caffrey, sir"

"He is no longer our division's concern." Her superior frowned.

"It doesn't appear he is the DC office's concern either, sir." She returned his thunderous expression "That's why I'm here." Something in her eyes must have caught his attention because he scowled, but he opened the door marginally farther.

"I'm listening."

"While I was in town I thought I'd check up on him… make sure he wasn't getting into trouble. He's in the hospital, sir, he would have died over night if I hadn't stopped by. He was injured on the job last week and no one got him checked out."

"Were they unaware of the situation?"

"Oh they knew about the altercation alright. They knew he was bleeding and did nothing to make sure he was alright."

"Admittedly that is negligent" the man's frown turned thoughtful, "but what does that have to do with you waking me up at this hour?"

"Peter wants you to petition for him to come home, sir, immediately."

"On what grounds?"

"On the grounds that it is impossible to reform a thief if he is forced to steal to survive. On the grounds that they are neglecting his wellbeing in some very serious ways."

"Come in." his eyes darkened farther "I think you need to start at the beginning and tell me everything."


	7. Chapter 7

He waited until the young woman sat beside him. She was perfect for this, a well-respected journalist for the Washington Post but young enough… idealistic enough to take on the FBI in the name of justice. She frowned at him as he downed his wine quickly.

"This had better be good, mister…" she paused, letting it hang as a question.

"My name isn't important. My story is."

"So you said when you called me at four am." She toyed with the cocktail napkin nervously "So I'm here. Let's hear it."

"I have a friend." Mozzie hesitated before slipping a picture of Neal out of the file on the table in front of him. He hoped Neal would forgive him for this. He pushed the photo toward the young woman "I'd rather you keep his picture out of this if you can. You understand." She looked up from Neal's smile and nodded. He sighed and pushed another picture her way. "This is how he looks now." When she gasped he knew he had her.

"What happened to him?"

"My friend is a brilliant man… and talented. He was convicted of bond forgery a few years ago…"

"He's a criminal?" the small man didn't miss the disappointment in her tone.

"He's a good man." He snapped "The kind of man who sees people the way they are… and cares about them anyway. The kind of man who has put his life on the line for strangers time and again. Yes, he may have broken the law a few times, but he is as good a man… as good a friend as anyone could ask for. He doesn't deserve this."

"Ok. Alright. I'm sorry." She was placating him, Mozzie knew it, but that meant she was hooked.

"Two years ago he made a deal with the FBI… with the…" He forced himself to say it with a straight face "agent who arrested him"

"What sort of deal?"

"He agreed to work for him… consulting on his cases. He even does field work… just like their agents. The reason I asked you to keep his picture to yourself is they use him undercover, if you can believe that." He fought to keep the distaste out of his voice, most people didn't see things the way he did and hostility would alienate them.

"I see." The woman smiled "You don't like him doing that." Apparently he wasn't hiding it that well.

"I wasn't thrilled. No." Mozzie sighed because what he was about to say went against every fiber of his being to admit, but it was true. "But the original deal wasn't the nightmare I thought it would be. He and the original agent, in New York, did … well… together, became friends. My friend enjoyed working with him for almost two years… he was talking about going straight, about continuing his education, about working for them after his release."

"Something changed?" the woman broke in.

"Yes." He frowned and refilled his drink "An agent from the DC area decided that my friend and his handler were to close. That the agent in charge of him wasn't strict enough or something."

"Alright?"

"He took my friend away from New York and brought him here… and in just three and half months… his negligence ended here." He touched the second photo lightly.

"I see." She frowned "how?"

"There was an altercation during an arrest… my friend was hurt… broken and bruised ribs and a cut on his right arm. A few stitches, a round of antibiotics and some rest he should have been fine. He was given none of them." Her darkening expression told him she was ready to fight. "that isn't all."

"It's not?"

"He was given seven hundred and fifty dollars a month on which to live. Which I'm sure you know is impossible in this city. He was without heat in his apartment and… he was…starving" his voice shattered over the last word. The thought of his friend going hungry and afraid calling him for help would get them both in trouble made his blood boil. The young woman stared at him in horror for a long moment before she spoke.

"I'll need full names, to follow up on this." She said breathlessly, like a hound she scented a good story. Mozzie bit his lip.

"My friend is Neal Caffrey though like his picture it would be best to keep that out of your story." He said reluctantly. "His current 'handler' is Philip Kramer with the Art Crimes division" He gave the agent up much easier. Wordlessly he passed her the rest of the file and stood up and walked away. It was done… and almost too easy.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

He blinked slowly… staring at the white expanse of ceiling above him. Something seemed wrong about it, but Neal couldn't place what… except it looked cleaner than he remembered. His mind drifted away from the problem when he tried to focus on it. He was warm… really warm for the first time in… in a long time, he thought distantly, and he didn't hurt. That thought startled him, bringing up vague memories of being in pain, cold and alone.

A soft sound drew his attention. Breathing… someone was breathing beside him. Neal tried to push himself up, but he barely managed to shift his left arm. The slow steady breathing caught and something wrapped softly around his wrist.

"Neal?" the young man blinked… he knew that voice. "It's ok, you're alright…" he knew the voice, but the tone was all wrong, to gentle and… almost timid. The face that moved into his line of sight was wrong too. Peter's frown looked frightened and the lines around his eyes etched far too deeply into his skin.

"Hey Peter." Neal blinked again, he could barely hear his own voice.

"Are you really with me this time?" Peter seemed stunned.

"Think… I'm dreaming… actually." He whispered, surprised by how much energy it took to speak.

"No." the older man smiled sadly "You're not dreaming." Neal smiled, it really was a nice dream, not being alone. His eyes closed and he almost drifted away on the pleasant sensation of having a friend here with him.

"Missed… you." He told the frightened apparition of his friend.

"Me too." Peter's voice broke. Neal snapped his eyes opened.

"You're… really here… aren't you?" he asked as realization dawned and tears suddenly threatened.

"Yeah I'm really here." Peter lay his hand on Neal's head quickly "and your temperature is down a lot."

"What are you doing here?" He paused gasping when he got the sentence out.

"Hoping you don't…" Peter swallowed hard "don't leave us." Neal frowned at what his friend was trying not to say. He wasn't going to die from a cold… Peter always worried too much.

"It's just… a cold." Though if that was true why was it so hard to breathe? Why did his muscles burn as though he had run a marathon? His friend laughed, a choked humorless sound.

"Yeah that's why you're in the hospital." Neal blinked quickly, letting his eyes dart around the unfamiliar room… realizing it really wasn't his apartment...

"Oh?"

"You're going to be alright, you got that." Peter looked disturbingly close to tears "We're going to make things right. You have friends, Neal. You aren't alone." The older man sank back down into the bedside chair and oddly enough took his hand.

"What… happened?"

Several seconds passed and Neal was starting to doze when his friend asked "Do you remember how you got hurt?"

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

"His fever is down." Peter informed the doctor "And he woke up for a few minutes."

"That's good. Though I think at this point the lower temperature is due more to the medication than an actual improvement in his condition just yet." He listened to his patient's lungs thoughtfully. "His lungs are still extremely congested. We may need to drain them again."

"Again?" Peter swallowed hard, he'd been witness to the procedure when it was deemed necessary around two that morning. "That will be three times."

"I know." The doctor frowned "It would help if he was able to cough effectively, but between the pain and constriction from the rib injuries, a slight stiffening in his chest muscles from the tetanus and his overall weakened condition…"

"Yeah." He studied his friend for a moment "Is he responding to the treatment?"

"It's still too soon to tell. It will take at least twenty-four hours to see a notable improvement if he is."

"Oh." Peter considered for a long moment. "Is it possible for me to get a copy of a summary of his records?"

"Why?"

"I'm filing a complaint against his current handler for negligence… his condition was mostly preventable."

"Well I'll agree with that." The doctor frowned "I'll see if I can get you those notes."

"Thanks." His jaw flexed at the thought of what he needed to do next "Doctor I have to go into the office to file the complaint… I hate leaving him alone, but…"

"We'll take good care of him."

"And call me if anything changes?"

"Of course."

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

June's heart ached as she called her lawyer's number. The visit from the young FBI agent in the early morning brought news her motherly heart never wanted to hear. Neal, her Neal, hurt, sick and alone. The thought that he had been going hungry made her want to murder someone. The young agent advised her to call her lawyer and file a law suit, but as her youthful form retreated to her car June seriously considered making an entirely different kind of call. Byron had many connections from the old days… many of whom owed him favors they never had the chance to repay before his death. A single call could have made the life of that arrogant agent a living h***… or sent him to the real one for that matter.

It was a call from Mozzie that gave her pause. As much as she'd like to see the man robbed blind, or locked in a cell with a three hundred pound psychopath named Bubba, bringing Neal home to New York so she could take care of him was more important… so she called her lawyer. She apologized for waking the man before explaining the urgent need for him to file the suit as soon as the courts were open.

Then she sat in her parlor sipping her tea thoughtfully, nursing her aching heart. She thought of the care packages she sent her boarder. She wondered if he got them… wondered if they helped. She hoped the treats she sent raised his spirits, gave him hope.

Her own pain dealt with, June considered her next move. She had to go to the attorney's office at nine to sign the papers, but after that… she packed a bag and prepared to take a quick trip down to Washington. Her boy needed her there to watch over him while he recovered.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Diana was furious, Jones noted, as the woman stalked passed him and into the breakroom without even hesitating. He followed her curiously.

"What's up, Diana?" he asked. She answered with a scowl as she poured a cup of coffee and gulped it straight. "You look ready to commit murder this morning. Your coffee maker break down?" he asked, because she was literally chugging the hot beverage. "Aren't you still supposed to be in DC?" he frowned at her expression. She didn't just look explosively angry, she looked exhausted and… pensive.

"We are the good guys right, Jones?" she finally asked.

"Well yeah…" he lay his hand on her arm at his own peril "What happened, Diana?"

To his immense surprise she started talking, by the time she had finished describing their former consultant's apartment he was angry. When she finished explaining the young man's condition Jones' thoughts were shifting from settling the score to making things right.

"What happens to him when he gets out of the hospital?"

"Hughes is working on bringing him home." Diana said firmly.

"Well yeah," he said worriedly "But things like that take time… two or three months, maybe longer… he'll have to go back to that cold room and… everything." He finished a bit lamely because the thought of his friend going hungry was just too much.

"Yeah, I suppose… maybe they will lift the freeze on his accounts."

"Maybe." He scowled. Yes, criminals deserved to be punished and Neal definitely fell into the criminal category, but this… this was inhumane. A plan began to form in his mind… a tiny thought that quickly bloomed into a really crazy idea. A scheme worthy of the man it would benefit, Jones thought as he began to smile.

He moved around the office, speaking quietly with several members of their team… putting his plot into action.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

"Sir" Peter addressed Kramer's superior with cool reserve. "I am filing a complaint against Agent Philip Kramer for neglect of his duties bordering on criminal."

"For what reason?"

"On a recent operation he and his team endangered the life of a consultant assigned to their office."

"Are we referring to Mr. Caffrey?" the older man broke in "Because as I understand it he was removed from your office due to your loss of objectivity."

"That is the story. Yes." Peter bit his lip to contain the sharp retort "However that has no bearing on the current situation. Mr. Caffrey," he had to force himself not to call him Neal "suffered minor injuries in the course of a recent case."

"That is a risk of the job." The man observed blandly.

"It is, but… sir, those minor injuries… several bruised and one broken rib and a sizable laceration went untreated, even though he was visibly bleeding."

"Now that is more concerning."

"Yes sir, it is." He straightened his spine more firmly "Mr. Caffrey reported to work on Thursday and Friday in noticeable pain as observed by three subordinate members of the team. On Monday he was visibly ill. By last night he was in the ICU with severe pneumonia, a Staph infection and Tetanus. He is in critical condition because of their neglect."

"He did not receive any medical care until last night?"

"None, sir."

"Why didn't he seek treatment on his own?"

Peter sighed and pushed the folder of evidence he had collected across the desk.

"He was not provided by this office with means to heat his home or properly feed himself never mind the cost of medical care. His contract says he is to receive medical coverage for on the job injuries and illness… but the paperwork never reached the insurance company. Neal said he filled it out and returned it so…"

"It was theoretically lost here in the division." He frowned deeply "Are you accusing Agent Kramer of willful abuse of power? Of intentionally causing harm to a Bureau asset?"

"No sir, I don't believe the damage was intentional, but serious damage was done… because he and his agents simply didn't care about the welfare of the man in their custody."

"I see."

Peter's phone rang into the sudden silence. Glancing at the screen, he flinched as he saw the hospital's number.

"Excuse me sir," he stood quickly "Neal's doctor told me he would call if anything changed." He hastily exited the room pressing the device to his ear."

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Elizabeth exited the train and hurried from the platform. There was no need to stop for luggage as she only brought an oversized purse that held a single change of clothes. She walked briskly to the exit doors and flagged down the first cab she saw.

"Fairfax hospital" she told the driver breathlessly before she pulled out her cell. One voice mail from her husband. She listened to the message. Tears formed in her eyes as she listened again. Biting her lip she leaned forward and addressed the driver "Can you get me there quickly?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Elizabeth sank back in the seat and tried not to lose control in the back of a cab. Neal was supposed to be invincible. She had come to take it for granted that he would always come through unscathed, no matter the circumstances… but not this time, apparently. A tear got away from her and slid down her cheek.


	8. Chapter 8

Director Charles Davison watched the young agent from New York hurry out of his office and frowned. Burke had charged in as soon as the office opened to file a complaint then rushed out mid explanation leaving behind a file of evidence. He picked up the folder and opened it. The first picture showed a torso blackened with deep bruises, the second a jagged cut open and oozing with obvious infection. The director narrowed his eyes at the third showing a tiny dark apartment with a thermometer reading just 45 degrees prominently displayed. Just as he flipped to the picture of a dismally empty cabinet his phone rang.

"Davison"

"Director this is Reece Hughes." The voice on the other end of the line was gruff.

"Agent Hughes to what do I-" he began

"Cut the bull Director." The other man growled "A CI was taken from my division a few months ago on the premise that my office had lost objectivity. I didn't fight it because I suspected it might be true but also because I trusted your office to do the right thing. Clearly I was wrong."

"Reece I assure you that my office-"

"Is he or is he not in the hospital due to negligence on the part of your agents"

"Well yes it would appear-"

"I'm not asking about appearances I couldn't care less about your public relations bulls***.

Did your people take care of my CI? NO. You were trusted with his wellbeing and failed. I am filing a transfer for him pending the results of a disciplinary hearing against the agents involved."

"Reece I don't think that is necessary."

"It is absolutely necessary." The voice dropped dangerously low "I certainly hope you were not planning to sweep this under the rug. A young man in the care of your office was freezing, starving and injured on your watch. I'm certain you agree he deserves justice. I expect you to follow through as you would if he was an agent."

Davison sighed as he looked at the folder in front of him "You're right Reece. I'll start the official investigation immediately."

"Thank you Davison" the warning lingered in the older man's voice.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Peter hurried through the halls to the room where he'd left his friend just an hour earlier. The doctor slipping out the door met his gaze with sad eyes and a grim expression. The agent froze, cold fear slithering along his spine.

"He's still with us." The man answered the question that got stuck somewhere between the agent's throat and lips.

"What happened? They said on the phone he stopped breathing … that they didn't know why."

"His left lung collapsed." The doctor sighed "It was not entirely unexpected… given the strain his pulmonary system has been under… and the repeated drains."

"Oh…"

"While we intubated him, he is, at this time, breathing mostly on his own…which is positive," The doctor shook his head "He's fighting to stay with us, however, if I were you… I'd start preparing for the very real possibility he simply may not be strong enough to get through this. You might consider whatever arrangements you will need to make."

"Can I see him? Can I still sit with him?"

"Of course." The doctor smiled sadly "Familiar faces… familiar voices might be enough to keep him fighting."

The room was quiet, the lights dimmed. The tubes around his friend had multiplied… besides the one protruding from the young man's lips there was another vanishing up his nose and the third inserted between his ribs. There was another IV in his arm as well. Peter thought the hard growing lump in his own throat might choke him as he inched his way closer through sheer force of will. He wanted to grab his friend and physically hold him here, to somehow prevent him from slipping away just by clinging tightly to the frail body.

"I'm trying to bring you home, Neal and it is not going to be in a box… you hear me?" he sank into the chair beside the bed as his knees gave in to the combination of exhaustion and grief. "Just keep fighting… no matter what."

At three thirty eight in the afternoon June swept into the drab hospital as she paused to find a room number she caught sight of Elizabeth Burke sitting alone in the lobby sipping at an insulated cup. Nodding her thanks to the receptionist she stepped in the direction of the other lady.

"Have you seen him? How is our boy?" June asked anxiously.

"Yes I sat with him for a little while." The younger woman looked up, tears clinging to her dark lashes, "It's bad. The doctor doesn't think he'll…"

"Well, then, we'll just have to make sure he does." She declared confidently.

"That's what I told my husband." Elizabeth dropped her eyes. "I always thought of him as kind of…invincible. The way he is, it's easy to imagine that nothing could hurt him… not really. That no matter what happens Neal will always come out on top… he's just that good…" she dropped her eyes and brushed a trembling hand across her cheek. "Then I saw him in there…he doesn't even look like Neal. He's not invincible… he's just broken and sick… "

"He will get better." The older woman sat beside her "Not because he's invincible or lucky, but because he is strong… stronger than even he knows and he has people who care about him, people who love him and will not let him go." The young woman beside her nodded and brushed away her tears.

"Thanks." She smiled sadly "If… when he gets well and he comes back to New York… it's going to be a lot harder to let him do the dangerous things he does."

"I know sweet heart," June returned her smile gently "Believe me I know." With that she rose gracefully and led the way back to the dismal room where her young tenant lingered at the precipice. It only took a moment for her to observe the situation. Nearly lost beneath a tangle of tubes and wires, silent and still lay her boy… her Neal. When she had looked into the eyes of the brilliant and talented young man that first day and saw the lost frightened child within, her heart had adopted him before they even finished their first conversation… and she was not going to lose him now to some pompous windbag's negligence. She let her gaze trace every device that supported him, let her heart know it in that instant before she turned her eyes to the rest of the room.

Her boy's FBI agent slumped dejectedly in a chair at one side of the bed, fatigue and pain in every line of his face. Eccentric little Mozzie crumpled up in a chair facing him, polishing his glasses relentlessly, pausing only occasionally to swipe impatiently at his slightly damp cheeks. He looked up at her with a look of such exhausted pleading it tore her heart anew. Both men looked desperate and hopeless.

Despite her own fear she put on a veneer of calm and took charge. A quick call arranged a hotel room, to which she gently cajoled both men to retiring.

"Elizabeth and I will take the night shift. You two get some rest and we will take care of Neal."

"But what if…?" the protest was universal.

"Clearly he is not going to recover from this illness overnight." She told them "and it will do him absolutely no good if the two of you make yourselves sick. Now off you go… get at least a few hours of rest, we will look after Neal."

It had taken quite a lot of persuading, but at last they had surrendered to their own exhaustion more than her reasoning and left the room. Taking the chair vacated by Mozzie she carefully lifted the limp, far too warm hand that rested on the bed before her. She squeezed gently, willing life and strength back into it.

"Neal, sweet heart, Elizabeth and I are here… you are not alone." With her other hand she stroked his deathly pale cheek carefully smiling sadly when he turned his head slightly into her touch "Just rest, you are loved and things are going to be better when you come back to us, I promise."

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Mozzie woke from his restless slumber to the ringing of the Suit's phone and a mumbled, sleepy. "Hello" from the other bed. Despite being graciously kicked out of the hospital room yesterday afternoon and their bone deep weariness neither man had gone to sleep easily ... or early. Now morning was just beginning to dawn outside the window, and exhaustion still tried to pull him back under. He jerked into fuller awareness when the suit sat up in his bed with a peculiar expression. Instantly the little man's mind was filled with dark heart wrenching thoughts. What if Neal was worse? What if he had slipped away in the night?

"No sir" Peter said, almost smiling "I haven't seen this morning's Washington post. I just woke up." He listened for a moment glancing at Mozzie. "Of course I didn't talk to any reporters… it would be against policy to discuss an open investigation…" Mozzie pulled himself out of bed and padded to the door. Inching it open he spotted the complimentary paper instantaneously. He grabbed the publication and quickly relocked the door.

Opening the paper he was surprised to find their story on the front page. It was not the main story, but the headline was definitely still noticeable.

 **NEGILGENCE IN THE FBI LEAVES CIVILAN CONSULTANT IN CRITCAL CONDITION.**

He turned the page to allow the Suit to see the bold print. The other man grinned briefly, but his eyes remained serious. Mozzie allowed himself a single smug smile as he read the scathing article before his thoughts returned to his friend.

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Marie Kramer picked up the newspaper from the doorstep and walked to the kitchen to start breakfast. As she poured her second cup of coffee she flipped it open and scanned the in particular caught her eye. She began to quickly read the article but slowed down in horror as the story sank in. Surely this wasn't true there was no way her husband would allow… well any of the things this reporter claimed

"Phillip!" she called

"What's wrong?"

She just held up the paper. "Tell me this isn't true" the look on his face as he read answered her question.

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Kramer took the papers from the lawyer in glowering silence. He had had enough. First there was the complaint filed against him three days ago; his boss refused to disclose who filed it… as if he had any doubts about that. He had hardly gotten the notice regarding the disciplinary review resulting from it, than the news story broke with its brutal condemnation of not only his actions, but his character.

Now this!

He had been served papers for a civil suit against him on Neal Caffrey's behalf. Of course he wouldn't sue him himself… he had someone else do it. Kramer scowled. He was sorry the man got sick, he really was and he was willing to admit he should have insisted on a medical check after the altercation, but he wouldn't put it passed Caffrey to exaggerate his illness to gain sympathy. If anyone could convince a doctor he was sicker than he really was it would be that man.

It wouldn't be hard to find out. It couldn't hurt to pay Caffrey a little visit… to wish him well. Kramer was certain he would be able to spot any tricks in a matter of minutes.

He wasn't terribly surprised to find Peter hanging around the hospital though the drained and almost grieving expression on his face was a bit unexpected, but then he knew Peter was fond of Caffrey and if he was falling for the charade, of course he was worried. Even considering that, Kramer didn't doubt he was somehow behind all of the calamities that were befalling him and enough was enough.

"What is the meaning of this?" he waved the court papers at his former probie. "A law suit? You know you can't sue me."

"I had nothing to do with a suit."

"Of course not." The older man frowned "I suppose you had nothing to do with the complaint filed against me either."

"No," Peter gave him a grim smile. "That was me and it's no secret. Your negligence was bordering on criminal and a man may very well pay for your mistakes with his life."

"I doubt it is as serious as all that." He resisted to urge to roll his eyes. Peter had always been a little overdramatic in his pursuit of justice.

"You think Neal is lying to me? Is that it? The felon has me deluded into believing he has been seriously harmed by your indifference?"

"Petey, I'm not saying anything against you…" he shook his head in frustration at the younger man's anger. "I'm just saying it seems to me that convincing everyone of the seriousness of his situation would be to Caffrey's advantage." He sighed "If I could just speak to him for a moment…"

"Oh…" Peter gave him a peculiar smile suddenly "you want to talk to him. You think you can convince him to come clean about it all…?" his smile widened, but his eyes darkened almost dangerously "Ok"

"What?"

"You want to talk to Neal," Peter turned away "Come on… right this way." The younger agent turned sharply and led him up the hallway, past the set of automatic doors into the intensive care unit. He stopped in the door way of a small cubical near the nurses station.

Kramer looked inside and felt his blood turn to ice. He barely recognized the man in the bed, deathly pale, damp hair clinging to his forehead, Caffrey lay absolutely still… it was the first time he had ever seen the man still even for a moment. A breathing tube slid between his colorless lips and smaller tube vanished up his nose. Five separate IV lines ran into his skinny arms dripping from seven or eight bags over his bed. A drainage tube protruded from his far too prominent ribs. His bare chest rose and fell slowly, each breath producing a harsh gurgling wheeze. A thin blanket covered the origins of several other tubes that slithered across the bed. Cool packs were tucked around the emaciated body, under his arms and across his abdomen, but the temperature on the monitor still read close to a hundred and two. This was no trick this was bad... very, very bad.

"By all means," Peter's voice penetrated the fog that suddenly fill his mind "if you think you can convince him to stop acting like he can't breathe without help please do… if you can I'll drop the complaint in a heartbeat. If you can make him put back on the twenty five pounds he's lost in the last three and a half months… I'll be more than happy to admit you are a better handler than me."

"I… how could this have happened… he was fine last Friday… he was at work on Monday... why didn't he go to the doctor if he was this sick."

"Because someone didn't turn in his insurance papers." Kramer flinched at that. "I don't know whose responsibility that was, but they were found in your desk two days ago. He certainly didn't have the funds to pay for a doctor's visit himself… not on seven fifty a month. He had to steal bandages just to keep the wound on his arm covered! He was starving, he absolutely couldn't afford extras!" Kramer wanted to argue that last point, but he shot another look at the silent form in the bed, Caffrey was clearly far thinner than he should have been.

"You don't think I did this on purpose, do you?"

"If I did you would probably be in jail right now… or I would. You certainly wouldn't be within a hundred yards of him."

"I see…"

"You once told me, when I was a probie, that when we take a person into our custody we are responsible for them," Peter looked so disappointed in him Kramer took a step back. "You told me that didn't just mean we made sure they don't escape or commit more crimes… we are also responsible for their wellbeing… their health and safety. You forgot that somewhere along the line, Kramer. You didn't give a d*** about Neal's health and wellbeing and he paid for it… dearly. I just hope it isn't with his life." The older man managed a weak nod before he turned and walked away feeling sick himself. He did this. A young man who had worked very hard for him the last few months without complaining about his limited resources was fighting for his life… and it was his fault. Kramer shook his head had he really been so blind that he missed that the kid was going hungry. Had he really given the young man the impression that he would be in trouble if he protested the conditions of his work release?

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Jones smiled as he walked to his door, to answer the most recent knock. His apartment was bursting at the seams, everyone in the office had showed up for his poker night…it was going to be a tournament with a twenty dollar buy in, but the winner would only walk away with half the pot… and bragging rights that they were the best poker player in the division, though that title would only be valid until Caffrey came home Jones suspected.

"You know this isn't really legal." One of the newest agents informed him. Jones smiled, the kid had only worked one case with them before Neal was transferred. He wouldn't understand.

"It's for a good cause, Ramsey, if you aren't comfortable you aren't required to attend."

"I just don't understand why you are doing this."

"We have a sick friend… whose life is… difficult right now. We are pitching in to help him out… and having a little fun while we do it."

"Oh" the kid frowned then looked thoughtful "Well… I suppose that's alright, but…I'm not sure…" at that moment the kid look up behind jones and his face paled slightly "We're in trouble." He whispered.

Jones spun around and startled slightly. Agent Hughes walked through the door, his face grim.

"Sir… this isn't what it looks like."

"It looks like my team has found a creative way to help out one of our own…" his lips twitched in a hint of a smile "Is that not correct?"

"Um…" Jones grinned "Yes sir."

"The buy in is twenty?"

"Yes."

"Good." The older man handed him a crisp bill. "I hope you don't mind that I brought a few friends." Three department heads slipped into the room. Several agents from other divisions that Neal had worked with joined them a few moment later… Jones wondered if Caffrey had any idea how many friends he had at the office.


	9. Chapter 9

He paced the length of his living room. Suspended pending investigation and review, Kramer had little else to do but pace and think. When Marie had torn him apart after the newspaper article he thought she was being unfair. He had tried to explain… to justify his actions explaining that Caffrey had been conning them all just like Tommy conned him. She had simple pursed her lips and said quietly "so you were trying to punish Tommy by mistreating that young man in your custody?" She had barely spoken to him since that conversation.

Now after his brief trip to the hospital he swallowed his guilt and admitted she was right. It was ridiculous. He arrested Tommy twelve years ago. The pain had long since dulled and yet… he swore. His visit to Caffrey's apartment on his way home had actually made him sick. The windowless room, the cold dingy little space with its empty kitchen was horrifying. He had honestly had no idea the young man was living like that. He should have known though, he should have made sure his CI had at least the bare minimum needed to survive… heat, food medical treatment. The only reason he had for not checking on Caffrey was Tommy.

He swore. His career at the FBI was over. Kramer tried to wrap his mind around that but his thoughts wouldn't couldn't focus on that knowing he had nearly killed someone to prove he was stronger, smarter more of a straight arrow than he had been twelve years ago.

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Mozzie gave Peter a tired smile. It had been another long day sitting in this tiny cubical of a room. They spoke frequently, but there were long pauses, vast empty plains of silence that fell between them, both here and in the hotel room while the ladies took the night shift. With the bridge between their two world views so visibly broken it was hard to find common ground Mozzie supposed, but they had been doing so… for four long days.

It was, he thought, the result of shared pain and worry… and when this morning three nurses entered the room and asked them to step out… outright terror. The reassurance that they were only taking Neal for testing didn't help as much as perhaps it should have. The fact that the young man lay there absolutely indifferent to it all, their fear, the nurses' reassurances, the potentially unpleasant testing… tore at his friend's heart.

When they brought him back he was missing the uncomfortable looking tube down his throat as well as the painful drain from his side and Neal was dressed for the first time since Mozzie arrived, in a hospital gown, but dressed. The doctor who accompanied him back to the room had smiled at Peter as he spoke to quietly for Mozzie to hear before he left. The agent had conveyed the wonderful news that Neal was… at long last responding to the treatments. Mozzie knew from stealing looks at the kid's chart that they had changed antibiotics and antiviral medications three times, now it seemed they had found the one that worked. The staff was still not making promises, but it looked so much better now.

Better was a relative term, Mozzie acknowledged. Better meant an oxygen mask covering the lower half of his face instead of a machine breathing for him, but it did not end the long silence from his normally brilliant friend. Nor did it appear to have lifted the heavy blanket of stillness that pressed him into the bed, despite the restraints the doctor had placed on his wrists to prevent Neal's hurting himself as the sedatives left his system.

Peter made a noise in the back of his throat and launched himself out of his chair. The smaller man turned to see what had caused the agent's distress. In an instant Mozzie was out of his seat and hovering over the bed as well.

Blue eyes, too big in Neal's thin pale face, blinked slowly at the ceiling.

"Neal" Peter asked cautiously, as though soothing a frightened horse "Are you with us?" those blue eyes slid sideways to study the agent's face. He continued to blink… as though his mind had not quite caught on to being awake.

"Neal?" Mozzie could not resist calling worriedly. His friend's gaze moved his direction. The skinny arms suddenly pulled against the bindings and Neal's eyes frowned. He tugged weakly at the restraints. His eyes clouded with fear.

"It's ok." Peter said gently "you're ok."

" 'n… tr'ble…?"the whispered question barely came through the mask.

"No" the suit responded in that same careful tone "You are absolutely not in trouble."

"Th'n… why?" he struggled feebly to free his hands. Mozzie moved to free his friend, but the suit's hand settled on his own… stopping him.

"To keep you from hurting yourself while you were waking up." Peter took the younger man's hand in his own and gave a gentle squeeze. "If I let you out of them… will you promise to leave everything alone?" Neal nodded "No matter how uncomfortable it is…" the older man added.

"Y's" his eyes were already fighting to stay open.

"Good" Peter unfastened the bindings and with another awkward looking squeeze lowered the young man's left hand to the bed. "You're going to be alright." Mozzie was gratified to see Neal's gaze slide to him for confirmation.

"He's right mon frère." He said hastily. "And if you ever scare me like this again…" he began, but the blue eyes had already closed and the hand clutched inexorably in his own had gone limp. "Get some rest kid." He finished quietly.

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June stood stiffly in the corner as Kramer's boss made his daily duty call watching him closely. As every day he walked quietly into the room. Looked at her boy, nodded and sighed.

"How is he today" he asked her in a weary tone "any improvement?"

Indignation rose up in her drawing her up to her fullest height and she looked at him in elegant distain.

"Perhaps you should have asked that while your people were letting him starve." She said with as much forced calm as she could manage though the venom seeped into her voice.

"I have very little interaction with the field teams… I trusted agent Kramer's judgement. He has always been reliable before." The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose "I never expected… this."

"He was in the custody of your department. Surely you do not intend to try to pass the buck Director Davison?"

"No" he shook his head and sighed again "I should have been more aware of the situation. I should have read the contract more thoroughly before I signed it. I should have made sure his insurance paper work was taken care of.

"You most certainly should have." She pinned him with another sharp look. The man nodded once and made his retreat.

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Sleep slipped away from him gradually, like a warm safe blanket being pulled off without his consent. Bone deep weariness still clung to his body as his mind tuned back into the world around him. Neal blinked a few times to bring the unfamiliar room into focus before he tried to sit up. He managed to shift his arms and lift his shoulders a fraction of an inch before he fell back against the pillow. Slowly his sleep clouded mind reached the conclusion he was not horizontal and he frowned trying to place where he actually was.

"Neal, sweet heart…?" June's voice spoke softly beside him. He slowly turned his head to see her.

"Hi?" the single word made her smile

"Hi." She laughed a bit and he thought he caught the glint of tears in her eyes. "How are you feeling?" the question surprised him. He took stock for a moment. His muscles felt as though he had run a marathon, his right arm in particular felt heavy and slightly stiff. He felt as winded as though he had been sprinting for hours as well…

"Tired?" he told her, his voice coming out in a faded murmur.

"I can imagine." She smiled again.

Something itched on his face… or more than one somethings maybe. He carefully moved his left hand toward the irritant under his nose only to have it caught by his motherly landlady. "No sweet heart leave that be." she told him as though addressing a toddler. Realization settled in at last… hospital room. He had a vague memory of calling in to work, of Peter being here, looking frightened… and the persistent image of both Peter and Mozzie hovering anxiously above him.

"I've been sick, haven't I?" he managed though the sentence left him gasping. The wheezy breaths turned into coughing quickly. June moved forward, adjusting the bed to sit him up more… and whispering soft soothing nonsense until his breath began to return. When he could look at her again she gave him a sad little smile

"Yes, honey you've been sick." She answered his question, "but you're on the mend now." She rubbed his arm gently and lay her warm soft hand against his cheek. It had been so long since he had any affection… any warm human contact. Suddenly reality caught up with him and long, lonely, empty months in Washington came back into focus. Tears threatened as he recalled why. To his dismay a few escaped the cage of self-control he tried to hastily construct against the surge of desperate emotions that filled his mind. June carefully swept the tears away with a gentle thumb, without commenting on his weakness. "It's alright baby" she soothed "I'm here, we all are… you're not alone." But she didn't understand, he was supposed to be alone… any contact with… anyone could get him sent back… could get his friends arrested and…June…was stroking his face… his arm… his hair as though it was alright.

"You need… to go…" he told her.

"No sweetie, I have all the time in the world."

"No." He tried to straighten up in the bed, but he had no strength. "Agent Kramer-" he saw understanding filled her eyes at last, then her gaze hardened even as she chuckled.

"Agent Kramer has his own troubles to worry about… he is not concerned about who does or does not visit you." She gently brushed at the hair on his forehead… Neal drifted away on her soft caresses.

He floated up far enough to see the dimly lit room. Elizabeth Burke sat curled up in the chair beside him, reading. She glanced up and smiled at him.

"Hi, Neal."

"Hi…"

"Can I get you anything?" he shook his head, "Ok… why don't you go back to sleep then." Neal considered arguing, but exhaustion was pulling him under already. "It's ok" she reassured "I'll be right here."

Mozzie was standing in the doorway looking out the next time Neal opened his eyes. A cough rose from his chest to his throat quickly. His friend spun rapidly and was at his side faster than Neal thought it was possible for the small man to move. Mozzie's eyes shone suspiciously bright and his hand appeared to tremble a little as he silently passed the younger man a glass of water. When the agony of coughing had subsided, Neal smiled up at the older man.

"Of course you smile." Mozzie rolled his eyes then smiled softly "though 'death smiles at us all, all we can do is smile back' I suppose." It took Neal's foggy brain a moment.

"Marcus Aurelius?" Mozzie laughed as though relieved and patted his arm.

"Yes… I find the stoic philosophy oddly comforting these days." He said softly "Go back to sleep Neal." the younger man was surprisingly happy to oblige.

When he woke up again a strange older woman in purple scrubs was touching his shoulder gently. He smiled at her.

"Good morning, honey." She told him "It's good to see those big blue eyes open."

"Good morning?" he replied uncertainly, glancing around for a window to confirm that. "How are… you?" he asked politely.

"I'm fine." She activated the cuff around his arm "How about we see how you are doing, shall we?" she took his temperature with a swipe across his forehead and smiled "Back to normal." She told someone over her shoulder.

"That's good." Peter's voice filtered through the air as the woman pulled Neal's gown down to listen to his chest revealing several pads and wires. Neal blinked at them in surprise, following the lines back to the monitor. When he looked up again Peter had stepped closer so he could see him and their eyes met… Worry lingered in the older man's eyes. He was surprised how much he missed the older man's concern… lectures and all. It had been nice to know someone cared enough to chew him out when he did something dangerous. No one in DC had ever yelled at him…

"I'm going to sit him up so I can listen to his back." The woman spoke to Peter. Neal frowned, why was she ignoring him?" "Can you hold him up?" his friend nodded wordlessly. "Alright honey," She said slowly and soothingly to Neal "I'm going to move you… it's going to be… uncomfortable but don't be afraid alright sweetie?" she sounded like she was talking to a child. With that warning she slid her hands under his back and lifted him with no apparent effort. Peter caught him under the arms with an uncomfortable smile. "Do you have him?" the woman asked the older man.

"Yeah" Peter said tensely.

"Good. You'll have to keep him up" she told him "He still isn't going to be able to support himself at all." Neal wanted to protest that, but as his suddenly to heavy head sagged against his friend's shoulder he found it was far too true.

"I've got him." Peter assured her. Neal flinched as the cold stethoscope touched his back "It's alright Neal, I've got you…" Peter's voice broke "I've got you." He felt his eyes grow as heavy as his head. Neal was only vaguely aware of Peter and the nurse shifting him back in the bed, of his friend's hand supporting his head carefully, laying him gently on the pillow. "Just rest now." The nurse had vanished when he pulled his eyes back open.

"Peter…?"

"Right here."

"You tell her… I'm five…?"

"No." the older man chuckled.

"S'me one… did." Neal affirmed.

"No..." Peter looked distinctly uncomfortable and his voice cracked as he continued "But you've been very sick." Neal thought he nodded before he went back to sleep.

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Diana frowned at Jones when he came into the office grinning.

"What has you in such a good mood?"

"You said Peter told you Neal is getting better right?" he smiled at her nod. "Well I thought we might make a trip to DC this weekend."

"Why?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope showing her the money inside. "He won't be going hungry anymore."

"Jones what did you do?" She found herself smiling for the first time in days.

"Let's just say it's a story Neal will appreciate when he gets home."

"I thought we could pick him up some stuff… basics before he gets out." Jones frowned a little "But I'm not really sure what I should get him."

"So you want me to help you grocery shop for Caffrey?" Her eyebrows migrated toward her hair line."

"Well… yeah"

The chuckle that she couldn't contain felt good.

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He'd worked a lot of cases in his years as a field agent, overseen nearly as many as a division leader and done more than his share of paperwork since becoming the South Eastern section chief. None of it had given him the kind of headaches the last week had.

The complaint filed against agent Kramer was serious and he could not ignore it, no matter how much he'd like to. Kramer was a good agent, had a high closure rate, respected by his subordinates and well-liked by the other division leaders in the DC office. The man had been with the Bureau for twenty five years and most likely depending on what additional complaints young mister Caffrey wanted added to the list now that he was conscious, he would be unemployed, with no retirement and no benefits once the review board was finished. He didn't doubt they would be out for blood given the press leak that had turned into a real PR problem for the FBI. The chief couldn't even fault them nor could he blame the consultant if he wanted to tear the man down as far as he could, given the circumstances. The boy, at twenty nine Caffrey was a boy to an FBI agent in his sixties, had every right to be angry based on the evidence Burke had provided in his formal complaint. He hated to lose a good agent over a convicted felon, but he couldn't argue the kid didn't deserve some kind of justice for the negligence that resulted in five days in the ICU and who knows how long in the hospital before he would be released, not to mention the nearly four months of horrifying conditions.

The Chief glanced at the signs on the hallway walls. Daily visits made the path to the cubical in the intensive care unit familiar, but this was his first visit to Caffrey's new room. The door was open and Caffrey's small friend was just exiting as he approached. He hung back until the little man left… his head was pounding too much today to subject himself to another tirade about Caffrey's rights as citizen on the United States and a member of the human race. Once the hallway was vacant he stepped into the room.

"Good morning… sir…" the chief stopped, staring a moment in surprise. Caffrey lay propped against the pillows and the bed much as he had for the last week, but his eyes were open and clear and he was smiling nervously around the thin oxygen tube under his nose. The young man still looked pale and haggard, but the improvement in his appearance in the last twenty-four hours was drastic. His cheeks had been shaved… the chief was willing to bet he hadn't preformed the task himself judging by the way his hand trembled as he returned a cup of water to the bedside table, but whoever did it, it had improved his appearance drastically. His hair was cleaner and combed neatly. All but one of the IV lines were gone too as were several other tubes.

"Good morning Mr. Caffrey." He managed to smile. "How are you feeling?" the kid seemed to consider that a moment.

"Better I… guess…" He coughed after that, harsh and wet. "Sorry…" Caffrey murmured

"That's good… you look better." The older man admitted.

"What can I… do for you… sir?"

"Nothing… I was just here to see how you are progressing." the young man smiled weakly at that and shrugged. The chief continued hastily "We will need to take your formal statement for the official complaint before it goes to the disciplinary board of course, but I understand that you are not quite ready for that. We will need a list from you of any additional complaints you would like to file…" he floundered to a stop when he met Caffrey's look of absolute confusion. "You do know a negligence complaint was filed against agent Kramer in your behalf… right?" his audience wordlessly shook his head for a moment

"I… don't… why would someone…?" the young man trailed off into another coughing fit. Clearly he had no idea about any of this.

"The complaint was filed by agent Peter Burke" the elderly agent informed him "The charges against agent Kramer are number one failure to provide in your contract for a living allowance either from the bureau or your own means to supplement your housing allotment. Number two failure to provide medical coverage as provided for in your contract, due to failure to file the appropriate paperwork. And Number three failure to provide necessary medical care in a timely fashion resulting in serious injury…" he stopped. Caffrey's eyes were glazing over with fatigue. He needed to wrap this up quickly. "That's the main summary… what charges do you feel should be added?"

"What?" Caffrey frowned his weary eyes turned thoughtful for a moment "I don't… want… to add anything" he hesitated "And you shouldn't… charge him for… the insurance… the papers got … lost…" He coughed again his pale face twisting with pain "Was an accident…" his awareness seemed to be slipping, his eyes growing heavy as he spoke.

"To be clear… you don't want to add any charges."

"No…" his head nodded deeply before he jerked it back up.

"And you are requesting we drop the failure to provide insurance?"

"Could have… happened… to anyone."

"Thank you Mr. Caffrey." The chief rose then "Get some rest and feel better soon." He turned on his heel and strode out of the room. For the first time he was truly angry for the young man. He was not a con pushing to take advantage of an agent in a difficult position… his act of kindness very well may have at least saved Kramer's retirement… after the agent's disregard had nearly killed him. The chief might hate to lose a good agent, but he knew a decent man when he met one.


	10. Chapter 10

"You look better" Peter smiled at Neal as he strode into the room. Sitting up and picking lethargically at the tray of food in front of him the younger man looked so much better than he had just a couple of days ago.

"So I've heard." Neal gave him a smile that looked stiff… forced.

"How are you feeling?" he asked more seriously.

"I'm fine, Peter." Neal looked away as though uncomfortable then brought his eyes back to his friend's face "How are you today?" he asked politely… Neal's manners were always excellent but this… this was far too formal for their friendship.

"I'm much better to." Peter admitted reluctantly "now that I know you're going to be alright." He didn't usually express that much emotion regarding the younger man, but…

"Really?" Neal wouldn't have looked more stunned if his friend had hit him with a two-by-four. "You were… worried about me?'

"Yes, Neal, I was worried about you." He frowned, what kind of game was the kid playing, he knew Peter worried about him often…?

"Oh…" Neal studied the tray for a moment. Peter watched his shoulders shutter slightly as he drew a sharp breath before he looked up. "Thank you." His smile was more sincere now. Then the older man suddenly understood. For the better part of four months, no one cared. They may not have mistreated the consultant, but no one had worried about him either. He had been utterly alone. Neal pushed the tray away and slowly, carefully turned to the side and forced his fragile body out of the bed. Peter had to close his eyes not to push him back down. He knew rationally the young man needed to get up… to move around, but he still seemed so weak. When he opened his eyes Neal was swaying dangerously only three steps from the bed.

"Do you need… help?" he asked awkwardly.

"Maybe."

"Where are you trying to go?"

"The chair…" Neal gasped "by the … window." Peter took a breath to steady himself against the awkwardness of wrapping his arm around the younger man. Then he steadied the trembling frame until he sank wearily in the chair. The Neal smiled and stared out at the roof of the parking garage… or perhaps the sky above it. He slowly reclaimed his breath… and his dignity. "So…" he began "the Section Chief stopped by… to see me yesterday…"

"I'm not surprised he's been by every day."

"He has?" confusion fluttered across his features "Why?"

"To check on you."

"Oh…" Neal let that sink in for several seconds. "You filed a formal complaint… against Kramer?" it shouldn't have been a question.

"Of course I did, Neal, his negligence almost killed you!"

"You are being a bit… dramatic, aren't you, Peter?" Neal's voice was teasing at last, but the fear was still to close in the older man's mind.

"You stopped breathing!" he snapped "The doctor told me it didn't look good! He told me to start… I am not being dramatic when I say he almost killed you."

"Ok…" Neal raised his hands to placate his friend "Alright. You weren't… exaggerating. I get it." he took a shuddering breath "So you filed the complaint because you were… scared?"

"I was scared, Neal." Peter tried to calm his emotions "But… that isn't why I filed. I filed because what happened to you should not have happened… you deserved some kind of justice." The younger man grinned brightly at him, but his eyes were serious.

"Thank you Peter."

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

"I told you to call me if they did anything!" Mozzie scowled at his best friend "You told me you would!"

"But Mozz… they didn't actually-" Neal tried to explain his complete lack of self- preservation.

"I thought we are friends! I stayed away when you asked me because I trusted that you would call if you needed me. You should have called as soon as you saw your budget. It is impossible for anyone to live on that!"

"I was making it work."

"Ramen noodles and canned soup is not making it work. How could you even eat that stuff?" The small man made a face at the very thought.

"You get hungry enough anything tastes good." His tone suggested this wasn't the first time he'd been reduced to such a state. Mozzie stopped to look at the kid with a frown. Neal pulled the blanket closer around his thin frame. The recliner seemed to swallow what was left of him. Still pale, at least the kid's lips looked less grey… as long as he left the oxygen in place.

"Well…" Mozzie sighed "you should have at least called when you were hurt. I could have patched you up… you know I could have. I've done it before."

"It wasn't that bad."

"Not that bad? NOT THAT BAD?!" the small man waved wildly at the room. "Have you looked around? I spent four days watching a machine breath for you and you say it wasn't that bad?!"

"I meant when I got hurt…" Neal said wearily "It was some bruises and a cut… I bandaged it properly and tried to get extra rest…"

"Yeah well you should have stolen some antibiotic ointment with the bandages." Mozzie sighed… "And a tetanus booster..."

"Yeah," The younger man grinned "I didn't see that one coming."

"Of course you didn't." Mozzie rolled his eyes and shook his head, but most of his anger had dissipated. "You know good partners … good friends are hard to come by."

"And I appreciate you being here."

"That's not what I meant." Mozzie glared at the floor. He wasn't good at letting people know how much he cared. He'd spent his life trying not to get attached, but Neal… Neal was different. "I got a call from Mrs. Suit… that her husband said I should be here…It scared me, alright."

"I'm sorry I didn't call."

"Yeah well…" The older man couldn't help the small indulgent smile "Just don't ever let things get this bad again without calling me."

"I'll try."

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

"Hey Caffrey" he startled slightly to find Diana grinning at him as he shuffled out of the bathroom. He was suddenly even more immensely grateful that June had brought him his own pajamas and robe this morning. Despite being exhausted after his shower he returned her smile.

"This is a surprise."

"Well…" she shrugged quickly "I was in town"

He raised an eyebrow at her and sank into the chair by the window allowing the silence to hang between them. "I'm told I owe you my life" he finally said.

"I guess that makes us even." She looked at the floor for a moment "I'm just glad I was there."

"Me too." The cough that followed had her stepping toward him anxiously. He waved her away as he caught his breath. "What were you doing at my apartment?" he asked when he could speak again, his cheeks coloring slightly at the thought of her seeing his pitiful little place.

"I was in town on a temporary assignment and I was going to ask you if you wanted to join me for dinner. Obviously that didn't happen." Her eyes darkened with a memory he wasn't sure he wanted to know about.

"Sorry about that." he shrugged sheepishly "I'll make it up to you the next time you're in town."

"You made it up to me by not dying Caffrey." She glanced at her watch "I should go I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"What brings you back to DC then… besides checking up on me?"

She hesitated and sighed "I have to testify before Kramer's disciplinary review board. They want to know what I found that evening."

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head "I spoke to you on the phone the week before… why didn't you tell us how bad things were?"

"I thought I could handle it."

"Sometimes asking for help is handling it." she snorted derisively "Just a thought Caffrey. There is such a thing as being too independent." She laughed at his stunned look. Neal tried to cover his shock, but that was the last thing he ever expected to come out of Diana's mouth.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Reese scowled deeply as he approached Peter. His expression was beyond thunderous. Peter's heart sank.

"They denied the transfer?"

"No, not entirely." Reese ran his hand over his face wearily.

"Then what?"

"They are trying to drown him in red tape. We'll get Caffrey back in New York… eventually."

"When?"

"When the disciplinary review is completed, assuming Kramer is found to have been negligent, they will start the transfer paperwork after an inquiry into our office's ability handle him properly."

"So they may still refuse because of me?"

"Not going to happen. After Kramer snatched him away without proper procedure then failed as his handle they want to sweep Caffrey back under the rug. They just aren't going to make it easy for him."

"Of course not." Peter sighed "How long?"

"Two or three more months."

"What are they planning to do to improve his conditions during that time?"

"I am still discussing that with them."

"Well they d*** well better figure it out."

"He will without question be getting a living allowance. The debate is whether it comes out of their budget or from his own legitimate income."

"His income?!" Peter growled "He should have had that any way. They should be compensating him for what they put him through."

"I know. I am on your side on this." Reese sighed and shook his head "But these people don't know Caffrey. They only see him on paper. They don't see Neal as a person they see a PR problem."

"Well make sure they know how big of a problem this could become if they don't take care of him."

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

She turned in a slow circle in the middle of the dark, cramped room. No, June decided firmly, this would not do for her boy. The single bulb in the ceiling barely pushed the shadows back, not nearly enough light for an artist like Neal. The smell from the stained worn carpet wrinkled her nose, a mixture of cigarette smoke, pet waste and mildew that lingered in the air. The paint on the walls was faded and peeling.

She frowned sadly picturing her Neal trying to live in this place for the last few months. She was tempted to simply move him to a better apartment, but that would possibly cause a problem with getting him home, besides he had built a life here. June ran her hand gently over the books she sent with him, now well-worn and arranged neatly on his small table, paused to gaze at the sketches of all his friends taped to his wall.

Moving him wasn't an option. Still something had to be done if he would have to live here another two or three months.

Well, the lighting was easy enough to fix, and the carpet needed the most through cleaning of its life, that paint needed to be taken care of... She would simply have to find the right people…


	11. Chapter 11

"Are you sure you can handle all those stairs?" Peter asked as they pulled up in front of the decrepit apartment building. "I'm sure the Chief could be convinced to put you up in a hotel."

"I'll be fine…" Neal smiled wanly "It's only a couple of months."

"You should be coming home with me right now."

"They have to do all the paper work, evaluations, reviews…" Neal sighed and opened the car door.

"Yeah." Peter glowered at the steering wheel. "It didn't take two months when they brought you down here."

"The situation is more complicated now." Neal unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to struggle out of the car. Peter scrambled out and hurried around the vehicle to help. The younger man waved him off. Once he found his feet he grinned triumphantly "There's the review board, the law suit… and I think they want me to speak to a reporter or two."

"I know." The agent's shoulders slumped slightly "Are you sure you will be alright here for two more months?"

"I'll manage.' He stepped slowly into the building and eyed the staircase that ascended into the darkness above. "You can go, Peter, I'm fine… and I know you have things you need to do."

"I think I'll walk you up…" Peter smiled grimly "I'm not exactly anxious to testify before the board anyway."

"Don't lose your temper." Neal advised as he started the trek up the stairs. By the time they reached his apartment door he was gasping and dissolved into a coughing fit on the landing. Leaning on the wall Neal waved away his friend's awkward move to help. Regaining his breath he placed his key in the lock and opened his door, dreading the wave of cold air that would rush out to meet him, but instead he was met with a wall of warmth. Neal blinked and checked the apartment number before he stepped inside.

"Hey Neal." Jones sat comfortably on his couch.

"Jones?" Neal raised an eyebrow "What brings you to DC?"

"I heard a friend was having a rough time." He shrugged and Neal glanced around for the first time. And froze

His apartment had been… repainted, the worn carpet looked like it had been professionally cleaned, the single bulb in the ceiling had been replaced by a fixture with four bulbs, a large box sat on his dinner table beside several new books and a comfortable looking bed was tucked in the corner of the room.

"What happened to my place?"

"Well… I think Mrs. Ellington was responsible for the deep cleaning, but the bed is a gift from your friends in White Collar."

"Really?"

"Yeah." The young agent looked sheepish "and so is this." He held up a prepaid debit card. "I bought a few basics but I wasn't really sure what you liked to cook so…" he passed the card over with a smile "It's not a whole lot… only about twelve hundred dollars."

"Twelve hundred…?" Neal glanced at Peter trying to regain his footing. The older agent just grinned at him.

"It's from the whole office. We held a poker tournament. Twenty dollar buy in." his grin broadened "The winner was supposed to pocket half the pot, but Hughes said you needed it more than he did."

"Hughes?" Neal was beginning to feel like a parrot.

"Yeah" Jones chuckled "If you want bragging rights as the best poker player in the office back… I think you have your work cut out for you… he's actually scary good." Neal laughed at that. It surprised him how good it felt to have friends that didn't want him to starve.

"Is the box from the office too?"

"Nope." The agent shrugged "That's from Diana and don't ask me what's in there, she was very tight lipped about it. Go on and open it. The curiosity is about to kill me." Neal nodded, anticipation rising as he eyed the box. He pulled the tape away quickly despite the slight tremble in his hands. He gasped as he lifted out several well stretched canvases, underneath he found eleven tubes of good quality oil paints and a similar number of acrylics. Neal stared at the contents of the box as his smile grew a bit damp. Blinking rapidly he straightened his shoulders. He tried to think of something clever to have Jones tell Diana, but…

"Tell her thank you for me, Jones…" he faced the other man "Tell everyone thank you." His cracking voice betrayed how touched he was.

"I will." Jones smiled softly "Hey man, you look done… why don't you get some rest. Peter has to go give his testimony, but how about I stop by later with some takeout? I saw a little place about a block up the way…"

"That sounds great."

"Good." He patted Neal's shoulder carefully "I'll see you in a few hours."

After he was gone Neal studied the bed wistfully, but the need to wash away the hospital smell drew him toward his shower. Peter was still standing near the door with a peculiar expression. Neal sighed. His friend had yet to lecture him about his carelessness.

"Alright… let's get this over with."

"What?" Peter looked surprised

"Whatever it is you want to say." He sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm ready… healthy enough to take it."

"I… don't know what you mean?"

"When you are frustrated you tell me off, when you are worried you tell me off, the only time you get this quiet is when you are really angry so… please. Mozzie has already given me his lecture"

"I'm not angry with you, Neal" the agent stuck his hands in his pockets and studied the painting still on the easel… "Because none of this was your fault."

"Really?"

"Really. Do I wish you had told me how bad things were? Yes. But it wasn't your fault. Now get some rest."

"I'd rather shower first."

"Ok… well I need to go… I'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright." Neal watched his friend close the door behind him before he shuffled into the shower. When he settled into his new bed Neal had time to think nothing had ever been so comfortable before he drifted off to sleep.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Peter met his former mentor's eyes as the board filed back into the room. Kramer looked away, dropping his eyes shamefully. The older man swallowed sharply and stared at his folded hands. The negligence claims were serious. At the very least he would be asked to resign and the board had the right to file criminal charges if they saw fit. A small part of the younger agent felt sorry for him… but only a small part. He pictured Neal the way he first saw him when he arrived in DC and Kramer's complete lack of concern and fury seethed through his mind. The vast majority of him hoped they sent him away for years.

Pulling his thoughts back to the present Peter glanced around the room. Diana sat stiffly two seats over from him and she met his gaze with her own intensely livid eyes. Listening to her vivid account four days ago of finding their friend unresponsive and nearly dead had forced him to leave the room to avoid assaulting his old friend, but not before he saw her accusing glare rake across Kramer with a similar desire. Peter shook his head and met Neal's eyes and offered a small encouraging smile. The younger man's statement earlier today, though less graphic than Diana's, had been the most incriminating. Neal had described Kramer's polite indifference not only on the day of his injury but throughout every day before and after. He spoke of asking several times for access to his own accounts and being denied even though many days everyone in the office noticed he skipped lunch.

The clack of a gavel drew everyone's attention back to the board.

"It is our finding that Philip Kramer is guilty of severe negligence in his duty in regards to the wellbeing of Mr. Neal Caffrey, a prisoner in his custody." Peter flinched slightly as they called Neal a prisoner. "We do not believe however that malice motivated his actions therefore we are not recommending criminal charges be brought. Agent Kramer we are offering you a chance to resign and retain your retirement benefits. If your resignation is not on our desk by the end of the day the offer will be revoked and you will be terminated." Kramer did not look up as their findings were read but he nodded

"Thank you sir." He said quietly

"We also find that disciplinary action is advised for all parties under Mr. Kramer's direct supervision." When the chairman finished speaking Peter grinned at Neal and received and small grateful smile in return. The older man could not resist pulling his friend in for a quick hug.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Oddly enough, Neal thought, as he surveyed his apartment one last time, the two months following had in many ways been longer than the previous three and half which had passed in a miserable blur. With his heat paid in advance and money for necessities and a few extras, life had been infinitely easier, but the loneliness was far more acute for knowing he had people who really cared about him. Weekend visits had become a regular event. He spent Saturdays and Sundays exploring the city with whichever friend was in DC that week.

Then Monday inevitably came.

Neal understood, people caring about you didn't mean they didn't have their own lives and they had all given up so much to rush to his side when he was sick, he couldn't expect Elizabeth to leave any more events to her assistants, for Peter to take any more personal days… June had her family and volunteer work to think of and Mozzie… Mozzie had people depending on his planning skills for any number of jobs. He understood that and honestly didn't begrudge it. That didn't make the long work week any less boring, lonely and empty.

It hadn't helped that he was confined to a desk for the duration of his stay in Washington. The official reasoning was that he was still convalescing from his illness, but Neal suspected that it had more to do with no one in the office being quite willing to take him into the field and be responsible for his behavior and his welfare.

He pulled himself back to the empty apartment. His couch, thoroughly sanitized, he had offered as a gift to the young single mother who had moved in on the third floor. His new bed he had shipped to New York, Neal wasn't sure why…He had a bed at June's, but it just seemed like a shame to get rid of such a nice gift. His rickety tables had gone back to the thrift shop yesterday and all that was left were the four suitcases sitting by the door.

A light tap on the open door revealed the building manager. The elderly man smiled at him.

"Thank you, for everything." Neal returned his smile.

"You too…" he shook his head "Glad to see your life is on the upswing."

"Thanks. Me too."

"Always knew you came from better."

"Well…"

"Anyway… I just stopped by to tell you good luck and…" The man grinned a bit mischievously "I honestly hope I never see you here again."

"Well." Neal said "Let's say this if you do… it will be on different terms."

"I could live with that."

As the manager tromped slowly down the stairs Neal noticed agent Kramer ascending. He flinched slightly. He had not expected to see Kramer again before he left. On top of being forced into early retirement the agent had been ordered by the court to cover a substantial portion of Neal's hospital bills. Neal could imagine he was not the former agent's favorite person at the moment.

"Caffrey." Kramer's voice clipped his name

"Good morning?"

"All packed and ready to go?"

"I am." He waited for the shoe to drop… or quite possibly the other man's fist.

"Good." The man seemed uncomfortable "That's good." Silence settled over the room. Kramer studied his feet and Neal studied the top of the other man's head "Look I just came here to say I'm sorry." The older man final blurted out.

"What?" Neal felt like someone actually had hit him.

"I let my past experience with a CI color my view of the situation and I was wrong. When I arrested Tommy twelve years ago I decided not to get that attached to a CI again, but I took it too far. I should have made sure you had what you needed at the very least so… I'm sorry." Neal regained his footing enough to study the man before him. Part of him wanted to be petty, to leave him with nothing, to rip him apart with his tongue, but perhaps the best revenge in this case wasn't revenge at all. He grinned

"I forgive you." He interrupted Kramer's speech.

"What?"

"You made a mistake. Yes, it hurt me, but it was a mistake. Apology accepted." Neal smiled as the agent floundered, he was surprised to find he actually meant it… mostly.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"My wife hasn't even forgiven me yet." He poked at stain on the carpet with his toe. "She said she thought I was a better man than this."

"You are or you should be at least." Footsteps on the stairs turned his attention away from Kramer. Swinging the door open he grinned "Good morning, Peter. Nice of you to drive me back to New York." He tried to assure his friend he was alright by his expression because Peter look like Mount Vesuvius when his gaze fell on the disgraced man before him. "Mr. Kramer here just stopped by to apologize before I left." That got Peter's attention long enough to prevent the imminent explosion.

"I see." He gave his former mentor a curt nod before turning his attention back to Neal, pointedly not regarding his old mentor "Is this everything you are taking back?" he gestured to the bags by the door.

"Yes." Neal lifted two of the bags 'I'll be in the car." He said as he stepped away. Peter grabbed the other two and started to follow.

"Peter" Kramer looked like he want to grab the other man's arm but he stopped and dropped his hand at the agent's thunderous look. "I only wanted to protect you from the pain I went through with Tommy. I'm truly sorry it turned out this way."

"Me too." Peter said coolly as he hefted the bags and started down the stairs without looking back.


End file.
